


Stupid, Dirty Quidditch

by katebeekay



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Ben Solo is a little shit, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Rey isn't much better, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebeekay/pseuds/katebeekay
Summary: When Ben Solo tries to knock Gryffindor's newest chaser off of her broomstick, he gets more than he bargains for. Little Gryffindor girls usually do not have such sharp teeth.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 25
Kudos: 76





	1. Falling

The first time that he saw her, she was all sharp angles and bone. He'd heard of her before when the Gryffindor team held tryouts at the beginning of the year, the second-string chaser who’d seemingly come out of nowhere with a crappy Cleansweep and a mean right arm. It was unclear why she’d been subbed in for the second match of the year; the first Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match was always had been one of the most intense games of the season and most teams would not dare to put in a second-string player so early in the year. Still, he was ill-prepared for the small fourth-year chaser whose body flitted from one end of the pitch to the other like a hummingbird zooming from blossom to blossom. 

It was then that he knew exactly what he wanted to do. 

Fifth year Ben Solo was going to knock her straight off her broom the moment the whistle blew.

It was nothing personal. A right of passage, maybe. Little Gryffindor girls should know what they're up against when there are big bad Slytherins on the pitch. It was only fair to let her know as soon as possible. Let her quidditch hopes and dreams crumble with a couple of well-placed shoves and bruises. 

So, when he careened into her, slamming his body -- already a somewhat impressive 5’9” for a 15 year old -- into her own slight frame, he could not expect what would happen next: a fumbling of the quaffle into the arms of a fellow teammate, a sharp elbow into his eye socket, and a tangle of limbs grasping towards his broom. 

“Let go!” Ben growled while trying to pull away. Her legs shifted, beginning to slip off the broomstick . The girl grit her teeth, a vaguely animalistic sound surging from her throat as she teetered wildly on her broom and latched one hand over his shoulder in a death-grip that made his stomach lurch. The whistles blared, the foul already called, yet the grappling continued. He shoved his arm into her neck, trying to displace her with brute force, but the rabid girl only turned her head, sinking sharp teeth into his arm. Kylo yelped, his broom jolting sideways in a desperate attempt at escape. The Gryffindor’s eyes widened in a sudden surge of panic as her legs finally lost control of her broom, her body shifting off and sliding forwards.

Ben Solo had two thoughts before losing consciousness. One was the improbable realization that not only was this tiny parasite of his hurtling straight to the ground, but she was also taking Ben with her. The other was that, if he somehow survived, he would learn to not underestimate little Gryffindor girls with sharp elbows and sharper teeth.

The last thing he remembered was the sight of her eyes, wide and desperate, before his body crashed and crumpled.

* * *

“You’re incredibly lucky, young man,” Doctor Kalonia admonished. Ben was vaguely aware that the doctor was rubbing some sort of potion over his arms, though through sight only. His body felt as if it were floating upwards, and he wondered if this was how Seers felt when they had out-of-body experiences.

“What I win?”

“Your life, for one,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She lit the tip of her wand and pulled Ben’s eyelids up, peering closely. “Ground was muddier than usual, so a few broken ribs and appendages, but no snapped neck or spinal cord, which is thankful for falling at that height. Should mend quickly. The concussion though,” she breathed sharply through her nose, “Well, sometimes the muggle ways are better than our current wizarding solutions. Been known to confound some patients as a nasty side effect.”

“I’m confounded?”

“ _No_ ,” she corrected with an exasperated sigh. “Pain potion, Solo. Pain potion. You will be back to normal in a few hours, though you may feel a bit out of sorts until then. Not sure which of you is worse right now, to be honest. Your little quidditch friend has been giggling for the past half hour since receiving her own potion. If you find anything humorous, please refrain? I can only take so much.”

Ben swiveled his head to the side in a way that made his eyesight dim slightly from the movement. The savage Gryffindor girl was sitting up in the bed next to him, glancing at Ben with eyes that were barely opened and snorting to herself.

“Be ready for a long night, Mr. Solo. You both will be on observation until the concussion has ended. If you require assistance, I’ll be in my office. And _no sleeping_ , understand? I am not against taping both of your eyelids open with spellotape until you’ve recovered.”

“Who won?”

“Excuse me?”

“The match? Slytherin won?”

Kalonia let out a sigh, muttering under her breath. “Gryffindor, okay? Does it really matter? You both could have gone brain-dead due to that stupid excuse of a sport!”

Ben let out an exaggerated groan, collapsing backwards on his bed. The Gryffindor’s snorts burst into a peal of wild laughter that did not cease until Kalonia had slammed her office door shut. She turned to Ben and smiled wide, showing the sharp teeth that had sunk into his arm only hours earlier.

He lifted his head and grinned back, eyes unfocused. In the back of his brain, something shouted at him to stop; that this little Gryffindor girl was the cause of this entire ordeal in the first place. That she was the enemy, not some fourth-year with bright eyes and a pleasant laugh that he maybe would like to get to know a little better. He shushed it; he was high as a kite and he wasn’t going to let something as stupid as his own intuition get in the way. Besides, perhaps it would be fun to get to know his competitor from the other side of the pitch?

* * *

“Merlin, I think I’m going to vomit.”

The last 6 and a half hours had been decidedly _not_ fun. After 3 hours of foggy bliss, Ben Solo’s head ached as if a thousand banshees were screeching inside. To make matters worse, his temporary roommate had gone from occasional giggles to substantial dry heaves that made his own stomach roil in protest.

“You’ve said so already,” Ben mumbled while shoving a pillow over his face. He could see stars behind his eyes. “Several times. Seven, to be exact.”

“You’re point, Solo?”

“My _point_ ,” he flung the pillow to the ground, “is to shut up before I make you, you rabid animal!”

“Excuse me?” The fourth year had the nerve to scoff at him. 

“Normal human girls don’t go around biting people on the quidditch pitch! If I contract something, you’re being held responsible.”

“Would you piss-off already? You’re acting as if I’m to blame for you being a git on the field!”

“We wouldn’t be here if you had just gotten shoved into one of the quidditch stands like a good little Gryffindor. But, no. You had to go all vampire on me and _bite my fucking arm_.”

“First of all, that sounds rather close-minded towards other magical creatures. But really, what can I expect from a Slytherin? You probably torture goblins in the basement of your fancy mansion. Secondly, so sorry I decided to not let you push me around like every other girl on the pitch, but I happen to have pride _and_ skill.” She laughed to herself and the noise triggered another sharp pain in Ben’s head. “Seems to me that you only have one of those two, and it’s most definitely the former rather than the latter.”

“We’ll see about that, Gryffindor-”

“Rey.”

Ben stared at her blankly. “What?”

“Are you stupid?” She sighed and nodded in his direction as a brief sign of acknowledgement. “My name isn’t ‘Gryffindor’ or ‘rabid animal’ or whatever else you’ve been calling me. Rey. Rey Niima.”

Ben rolled his eyes and slumped down in his bed.

“Like I care. And I suppose you’ll be wanting to know my name, then? So we can be best friends and braid each other’s hair?”

“I know who you are, Ben Solo. Everyone does.” Rey settled into her own hospital bed, turning her back to him and curling up into a ball. “I’m not interested.”

* * *

The last few hours of observation passed in relative silence. The Gryffindor girl— _Rey_ _—_ was reading what looked like her charms’ textbook and Ben spent the last half hour counting the number of stones that made up the wall near his hospital bed. Every once in a while, Doctor Kalonia would enter, prod one of them awake if they seemed decidedly sleepy, and cluck her tongue about their grumpy dispositions. By eight a.m., Ben was groggy, but eager to leave his bed and hopefully forget all about that hell night.

“Visitors,” Kalonia stated matter-of-factly as three students entered the wing. Two of them, Griffindors around Rey’s age, were an unfamiliar couple who entered the room far louder than necessary. Ben groaned as the third student entered; Poe Dameron, Gryffindor’s golden boy and self-proclaimed best flyer on the pitch, was the bane of his existence since both of them had been recruited onto their respective teams during year 2. 

“You’re alive!” the girl shouted while wrapping Rey in an enthusiastic hug.

“It’s going to take more than a fall to take me out!” Rey responded with a laugh. 

“I’ve missed you! The common room’s been so quiet and Finn wants to do nothing but play gobstones and I swear there’s been no one to gossip with about whether or not Professor Snoke’s secretly a grindylow in disguise and it has been just so incredibly _boring_!”

“Let up, Rose! I’ve been gone for less than 24 hours,” Rey laughed while trying to pry the girl’s arms from around her neck. “And to answer your question: yes. Snoke is most definitely a grindylow in disguise and gobstones is, in fact, dreadfully boring.”

“Gobstones aren’t that boring,” the other boy—Finn, Ben gathered—muttered sheepishly as Rose grinned in his direction. “Brilliant flying, Peanut. Fierce, as usual.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose at the nickname.

“I at least made it an interesting match, right?”

“At the edge of our seats!” He confirmed while ruffling the girl’s hair. “Maybe a little too much at the edge of our seats, to be honest. Next time, I’m applying a permanent sticking charm to your arse. You’ll be walking around the halls with your Cleansweep permanently attached to your bum, knocking into first years on the stairs and whatnot.”

Rose rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

“Rose, you make one dirty joke, and I swear!” Rey warned.

“Finn started it!”

“Well,” Poe Dameron interrupted, flashing a bright smile that made Ben cringe. ”Now that my favorite band of fourth-years are done hassling our star chaser, seems to me we should make sure she’s well-fed and ready for class. You feel okay walking, Rey?”

“What, you planning to carry her?” Ben grumbled under his breath. Poe turned to him and stared.

“Alright there, Ben? Didn’t notice you.”

Ben snorted. “Only so many loser Gryffindors I can take in one room, that’s all. Go on, then.”

“How badly did you hit your head, Ben? Because if I recall correctly, Slytherin was the loser last night,” Poe pointed out with a cocky grin. “Or were you too busy hurtling through the air to take notice?”

“Season's not over.” Ben flexed his fingers, fighting back the urge to throw something, anything, at Poe’s head. Last time he’d done so, it had resulted in a week’s worth of detention and one of the most embarrassing howlers that he had ever received from his mother. He settled for squeezing his hands around the frame of his bed, pretending it was Dameron’s pretty little neck. 

“Off to an exciting start, though, wouldn’t you agree?” Poe continued. “Though, I’m not sure if you can top today’s match. Your flying’s not nearly as graceful as your falling.” Ben moved instantaneous to his feet, towering over Poe and leering downwards. Maybe the detentions would be worth it.

Rey cleared her throat, interrupting the mounting tension between the two boys. “Listen, I’m starving, so if we could just leave? I haven’t eaten in ages.”

“You act like they were starving you here,” said Finn while slinging an arm over Rose and Poe’s shoulders while heading out the door, giving a wary glance in Ben’s direction. “C’mon, Peanut! You can go stuff your face on pumpkin pasties and we’ll pretend we aren’t disgusted by your ability to inhale an entire table’s worth of food in one gulp.”

Rey gathered her things, purposely avoiding Ben’s gaze. The fact that she wouldn’t look at him almost made him angrier, though he could not quite place why. She was a silly underclassman with a big mouth and an elevated ego. Why should he care what she thought of him? Still, it nagged at him. Was she really not even going to say goodbye to him? Or apologize for Poe Dameron acting like a complete load of dung? No, it shouldn’t be that easy.

“See you around school, _Peanut_ .”

If anything would make the last 12 hours of suffering worth it, it was the bright red blush that spread over Rey’s face. She opened her mouth as if to say something before she stormed out the room without glance. A slow smile spread over Ben’s face. But it wasn’t a cheerful one. More like one that a cat gets before spotting it’s prey.

Maybe Dameron was right. Things _were_ off to an interesting start.


	2. Passing

Usually, Rey Niima only saw Ben Solo in the hallways twice a week, at the most. With his large, hulking body and ridiculously flowy hair, he was hard to miss. This was why when Rey began seeing Solo almost three times a day, everyday, she had the sinking feeling that the battle on the quidditch pitch, as Finn had taken to calling it, was far from over. Each time they passed, which had suddenly become far too often, she could practically feel his eyes dissecting her to pieces. She frequently had to withhold the urge to elbow him in the gut and ask him what hell his problem was.

“What’s the deal with Ben Solo, anyway?” Rey asked as she plopped down at her seat at the Great Hall, snagging a piece of sausage from Finn’s plate and gulping down a full glass of pumpkin juice. Across the room, all the way at the Slytherin table, she could see his eyes narrow, and she wondered whether those large ears of his had some sort of supersonic hearing.

“You know there’s unlimited sausage here, right?” Finn muttered while moving his plate away from Rey’s grubby hands. Rose opened her mouth, though she was immediately shushed. “Please, Rose, it’s too early in the morning.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Well?”

Rose stared blankly for a moment. “Uh.”

“Insightful,” Finn commented. “As for Solo? I heard he’s part dementor. Sucks people’s souls straight from their bodies — _ Don’t say a word, Rose!”  _ Rose pouted silently.

“Checks out. I do feel awfully dreadful whenever I catch sight of him. Which, by the way, is apparently all of the time now.” Rey sighed as she snagged the syrup and doused her entire plate, eggs included. “How many accidental run-ins can you have before it officially gets called stalking? Because as of this past week, it’s been at least sixteen, and I am starting to fear for my soul.”

“Talking about Ben Solo? Don’t worry, he’s harmless,” Poe Dameron said as he joined the fourth-years. “Probably just trying to intimidate you for the next quidditch match.”

“Our next quidditch match is against Hufflepuff.”

“Huh,” Poe considered. “Well, nevertheless. Solo’s more dramatics than anything else.”

“Hasn’t he tried to behead you on multiple occasions?” Finn supplied.

“ _ Dramatics _ , Finn. Dramatics. I knew him when we were little, you know? He was a completely normal kid; no moody brooding or anything. Normal family, normal upbringing, normal everything. Lived down the street from him. We got along fine,” Poe sighed. “But when he came to Hogwarts? I swear, Professor Snoke brainwashes them all. Wouldn’t even talk to me. But is he a mass murderer intent on stealing your soul? On that, I’d wager no.”

“I dunno, Poe,” Rey remarked with a wicked grin. “I’ve got a pretty tasty soul.”

“You would, I’m sure,” said Poe with a wry smile. “Still, like I said before: Ben was 100% normal until Snoke and the rest of the Slytherins decided to muck him up. Maybe he really is just attracted to that delicious soul of yours, Rey.”

“Can’t say that’s particularly comforting,” Rey muttered while popping a final pastry into her mouth. “Speaking of the bane of every Gryffindor’s existence, any advice for a potions’ essay on hiccoughing solutions?”

“You mean, do I have my old essay from two years ago?” Poe said with a wink. “Unfortunately, no. I torch all my essays at the end of term.”

“Peanut, that assignment’s due tomorrow morning,” Finn said. “You really haven’t started? Are you trying to tempt Snoke into searing your body over an open flame? Do you want all of Slytherin house to start digging your grave? Maybe you’re looking forward to being dismembered and carefully added to a shrivelling solution?”

“Stop being gross! I’ll get it done later,” Rey laughed while shouldering her bag and snagging her broom, an outdated Cleansweep with bristles so bare that at first glance it looked more like a pile of kindling rather than respectable quidditch gear. It had been her prized possession since she’d helped the groundskeeper, Chewbacca, clean out the quidditch shed back during second year. It wasn’t much, but after a few well-placed charms and a bit of handle-polish, it flew well-enough, if maybe a bit bumpy when taking turns too sharply.

In less than a second, Rose’s hand shot out and snagged Rey’s broomstick from her hands before she could head out the door. Poe whistled in appreciation.

“You might make a good seeker,” Poe muttered under his breath.

“No broom,” Rose stated plainly, handing Rey’s raggedy Cleansweep over to Finn with a perfunctory nod. “Library. Now.”

“Yes, Mum,” Rey groaned. “Finn, you coming?”

“Mine’s done, Peanut. We completed it ages ago.”

“Can I-”

“Young lady, get your butt to the library before Rose and I sick a howler on your arse!” Finn held his hand to his chest in mock concern. “We’ll proofread later, okay?”

“Ugh. You guys are the worst pretend parents.” Conceding defeat, Rey snagged one final piece of sausage from Finn’s plate, waving it above her head in a sign of victory, before heading to the doors. She grinned as she finished it off, wiping greasy fingers against her jeans while starting to ascend the staircases. Rose and Finn had been her closest friends since they’d been corralled into the same train compartment during first-year. 

Finn and Rose, along with the guidance of Rose’s older sister and Rey’s quidditch idol, Paige, had been monumental for navigating the ins and outs of Hogwarts as a naive muggle-born with little understanding of the magical world. Sure, Finn’s uptight, pure-blood family had created difficulties during the first summer when Finn had tried to invite Rey to visit for a week, but not even that could take their friendship away. On numerous occasions, Finn had punched any Slytherin in the face who dared call his peanut “mudblood.”

Halfway up the second staircase, a sharp jerk propelled Rey forward. Rey groaned, realizing the staircases were shifting. A sudden body mass hit her from behind, and Rey struggled to keep her footing.

“Sorry,” a deep voice muttered just above her ear. Ben Solo. Of fucking course.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Rey shouted as she spun around. “What, you’ve got some sort of tracking charm on me? Your mum never taught you about personal space? Six feet apart, Solo!”

Ben raised his hands upward in an act of mock surrender. “Didn’t realize you owned the school, Niima.” Shifting away, he ran his hands through his hair, and Rey had the odd suspicion that it was all some sort of act. An act to accomplish  _ what _ , she couldn’t say, but the combination of the perfectly relaxed stance with oh-so carefree hair toss seemed a little too perfectly structured and almost unnatural given Solo’s usual conduct of slumping and snarling. “Listen,” he said as he leaned onto the railing. “As flattering as it is for you to assume I’m all powerful, I don’t control the staircases.”

“If you were all-powerful, Slytherin wouldn’t have failed miserably in the last quidditch match, then, would they have?” Rey responded with a knowing smirk. The trash-talk was almost comforting, and she found herself reveling in the volley of insults between the two of them. “Tell me, did your teammates recount the story of their brutal loss for a bedtime story when you returned to the Slytherin common room? Murder a few house-elves to make yourself feel better? Or did any of them even bother talking to you after your embarrassing little tumble?”

Ben halted with a sour expression on his face. It was a cheap shot. Rey remembered how her friends had visited her the next morning with concern for her health and joy for her return; Ben Solo had left alone, not a single visitor offering any assistance. She almost mumbled an apology, but quickly bit her tongue. Trash-talking between quidditch teams came with the territory of the game. Hexing, too, as Rey had learned far too often after helping reverse more than a couple tongue-tying curses on Poe Dameron before a big game. It was simply part of the rivalry between houses, and surely nothing personal.

“Nothing to say, Solo? Too scared Hogwarts’ up and coming chaser is going to knock you off your broom again?” Rey scoffed as the staircase shuddered into place. Great. Thanks to Hogwarts’ more inconvenient quirks, she was thrown way off-course from the library and even further away from finishing that wretched potions essay. She’d have to detour past the east wing where two second years had set off dung-bombs earlier that morning. Wrinkling her nose, she squeezed past Ben Solo to the landing and braced herself for whatever smells would be lingering in the next hallway.

“Your hand placement is sloppy when you throw from your left side.”   
  
Rey halted. “Excuse me?”

Ben Solo shrugged and moved after her, the corner of his mouth quirking downwards. “You mentioned that I must be intimidated by Hogwarts’ up and coming new chaser. I would be, maybe, if your finger placement wasn’t so shoddy.”

“I don’t need your bloody advice on fingering!” Rey shouted. Her face reddened, as if realizing what was coming out of her mouth, and she frantically looked behind her in search of any witnesses. Solo snorted.

“You don’t usually play chaser for Gryffindor, do you?” he said as he circled her, studying. “What happened to Karé Kun?”

“None of your business,” Rey answered. Seventh-year Karé Kun had left Hogwarts due to a transfer to Beauxbatons in early September. Rey had not asked many questions when she’d been bumped up from second-string, but rumors ranged from overprotective parents to a nine month-long illness due to some unsavory fraternization with some Hufflepuff boy. As far as Rey was concerned, Karé could have been abducted by centaurs, as long as that meant she had made her way to the starting line-up.

“Hmm.” Solo leaned forward. “You  _ replaced  _ her. Why?”

“Because I can fly circles around Slytherin losers.”

“If only, Niima,” Solo said, his lip curling backwards in what could almost be construed as a smile. “You need a teacher,” he continued moving forward so closely that Rey had to crane her neck to make eye contact. “To improve your  _ fingering _ .”

The crack of Rey’s hand meeting Ben’s cheek echoed through the hallway. She was fuming. Angrier than a blast-ended skrewt and just as volatile. And the fact that Ben Solo was  _ grinning _ as he held his hand to his cheek only made it worse. He laughed, satisfied with Rey’s displeasure.

“I’m only trying to help a poor fourth-year in need. You don’t want to get better? Fine. Enjoy playing second-string throughout all of your quidditch career. Have fun watching Dameron’s mediocre showboating from the sidelines.”

“I’m not second-string anymore,” Rey muttered, furious that she felt heat rising to her cheeks.

“For now, maybe,” Solo shrugged, and Rey gritted her teeth at the annoyingly smug tone he adopted. “But you weren’t first pick. What’s going to happen when Poe Dameron graduates and there’s no longer someone there to play favorites for their little underclassmen buddies?”

Quidditch rivalry or not,  _ that _ was taking it too far. With a snarl, Rey curled her fist and aimed a punch at the big, lunking bastard’s skull. Tried to, at least. Ever the skilled chaser, Ben caught her arm as easily as a poorly lobbed quaffle.

“Let go!”

“If it’s just going to lead to you slapping me again, then  _ no _ .”

“It was a punch, you dumb idiot!” Rey yelled. She huffed, managing to pull her arm from his grip with a wince. “Don’t want to get hit? Be a decent human being perhaps, instead of utter scum! You really think insulting me is going to convince me of anything? Come off it, Solo. Why do you even care?”

Ben Solo froze for a moment. Rey could practically see his brain piecing together a possible answer. Rey raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“Maybe,” Ben paused, as if still searching for words. “Merlin, Niima, I don’t know. Maybe I just want some sort of worthy competition, okay? Someone worth playing someday in the big leagues.”

“I don’t-” Rey sighed. “Listen, not everyone has ridiculous dreams about going pro. Can’t it be enough just to like flying?”

“What’s the point of competing if you’re not trying to be one of the best?” Solo questioned, his voice dropping to a softer volume than Rey had ever heard from him before, almost as if he were lost in thought. He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Because, for all you know you could be. Who’s to say you couldn’t play pro? Why not?”

“Because spoiled little pure-bloods have spent their whole lives on a broom while I barely even hovered until only a few years ago, okay?” It was the truth. How could she compete with players who had grown up on toy broomsticks and World-Cup attendances? Who spent their summers practicing Porskoff Ploys rather than reading “Quidditch Through the Ages” by the light of a dull flashlight in the hopes that they wouldn’t get caught? 

Rey chewed her lip in thought as she turned away. After learning that the strange, skinny girl from Children’s Services was a little more strange than originally thought, Rey’s foster father, Unkar Plutt, had attempted to use Rey’s burgeoning gifts to his own advantage. After receiving a strongly-worded owl from the Ministry of Magic on the use of underage magic, her so-called father figure had confiscated any and all “magical contraband,” as he referred to it, trying to sell it to any willing customer he could find on the back-channels of the internet. She didn’t even bother to take her broom home during the summer out of fear of losing it, let alone go for a joy ride on it. What good was a quidditch player who had no way of practicing for three months of the year? How could she even compare?

“So, you don’t come from some great wizarding family,” Ben Solo said, his voice still quiet. “You come from nothing. From dirt. But, you don’t have to be nothing, Niima. You can be more.”

“Calling a person dirt is not necessarily the way to a girl’s heart, Solo,” Rey responded, trying to diffuse the tension.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’ll be fine, Solo,” Rey answered, surprised at the lack of bite in her tone. He was close to her, and Rey was surprised to see kindness in his eyes as he studied her. “I can handle a broomstick just fine. I don’t need an extra flying coach.”

“We’ll see,” Ben said, finally shoving himself away. He glanced over his shoulder before he turned a corner, and Rey was surprised to feel an odd sort of jolt in the pit of her stomach.

We’ll see, indeed.


	3. Fumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's okay out there! Enjoy!

“Niima! Left side!”

Ducking to the side, Rey rolled out of the way of a bludger and dipped below her fellow chaser, careful to reconstruct formation.   
  
“LEFT SIDE, Niima! Eyes open! Move it!”

Once again, she rolled in a sideways spiral before hurriedly returning to formation below Poe’s left elbow, gritting her teeth as she awaited the pass.

“Ready?” Poe shouted over the sound of rushing wind. 

“Open!” Rey shouted, positioning her body just right. The quaffle passed behind Poe’s back, dropping steathily to the side and into Rey’s awaiting arms. Rey reached outwards, speeding up slightly to account for the whizzing bludger that just passed her ear, and was horrified to watch the ball fumble out of her arms and into the mud below. A whistle blew, signalling their failure in sharp, high-pitched spurts.    
  
Rey skittered to the ground breathing hard. Zorii Bliss, Gryffindor’s quidditch captain, had held practice for nearly 3 hours at this point, and the sun had grown cold in the late-December sky. Rey’s fellow chasers, Poe and Paige, descended after, frantically rubbing at their hands in a desperate attempt to regain circulation as their captain scowled at them. Zorii flew like a falcon, but she was a madwoman when it came to leading a team. After Gryffindor’s first match, she’d been relentless during every practice. It didn’t matter that their next opponents, Hufflepuff, had lost gloriously to Gryffindor last year; Zorii ran drill upon drill as if their next bout would have them in contention for the Quidditch World Cup.

“Dameron and Niima! You know the only job you’ve got down there is to not drop the damn quaffle, right?” Zorii shouted. “Again!”

“Bliss, my fingers are turning purple,” Poe insisted as he held up the violet digits for proof. “We can barely breathe, let alone properly complete a play.” Rey nodded miserably in agreement, too ashamed at her botched pass to meet her captain’s eyes.

“Why don’t we call it? Our next match isn’t even until after break, Zor,” Paige said, setting her hand Bliss’s shoulder. In times like this, fellow seventh-year Paige Tico was one of the few people who could calm Zorii down to a reasonable level when she went on one of her quidditch tirades. This time, however, the seeker merely shrugged her friend’s hand off of her shoulder in an irritated huff.   
  
“Well, excuse me for being one of the few people who actually gives a flying flip about winning the Quidditch Cup this year,” Zorii grumbled, clearly exasperated. “You want Wexley to knock a bludger into our own keeper again? Or Niima to fall off her bloody broom? No? Then, we’re out here until the drill is done flawlessly!”

“Let up, Zorii,” Jessica advised as she dismounted and slung her bat over her shoulder. “This is the last time we’re able to book the pitch before break. Shouldn’t we be leaving on a more positive note? Christmas cheer and all that? You know, actually remind us why we  _ like _ quidditch rather than making us want to drop it entirely after hols?”   
  
“You want to run laps again, Pava?”

“All I’m saying is that we’ve got a good team,” Jessica continued, slinging an arm over Poe’s shoulder. “I mean, look at this face! How could you not fall in love with your teammates when they're all this damn adorable.”

“I am pretty damn adorable, “ Poe confirmed.

“Quidditch isn’t about being cute,” Zorii answered. “Poe can’t just flirt his way to defeating Hufflepuff next semester.”

“It could work,” Poe said with a shrug. “I assume that’s how I made it on the team in the first place.”   


“Your face is going to be less damn adorable after I curse it, Dameron.”   
  
“Just trying to lighten the mood!” Poe insisted. “Listen, Zor, we’re going to be okay. We’ve got a solid line-up and a team of mostly veterans. Hufflepuffs got a pretty tight-knit group, too, and they’ve got that keeper who’s an all-out miracle on the pitch, but they completely blunder when it comes to speed and strength. We’ve got this win clinched.”

“That’s not enough!” Zorii insisted. “We barely beat Slytherin during the first game and we’ve got a brand-new chaser with barely any experience. How secure are we really right now?”

Rey’s face colored with the realization that her mishap during their first match was responsible for the onslaught of pain that was happening each practice since then. If she had just maneuvered out of Solo’s grasp smoothly, she and her teammates would be laughing in the Gryffindor common room and exchanging last-minute gifts rather than freezing off their respective appendages in the cold, winter air. It didn’t matter that they won the game against Slytherin; none of it had been thanks to Rey.

“I’m getting better,” Rey answered quietly.   
  
“Better, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that you were passed out for most of the only game you’ve been put in so far. Not to mention the blatant fouls you pulled before that. Highly inappropriate conduct, Niima.”   
  
“Sorry I had a fucking nut job of a Slytherin target me,” Rey muttered, unable to stop the irritation bubbling up in her veins. “Next time I’ll just let him run me into the stands rather than standing up for myself. Much better to be a doormat, right?”

“Check your anger, Rey,” Zorii warned, her tone hard as flint. “Listen, you fly like hell and you can catch a quaffle like no other newbie that I’ve seen. But losing control of your emotions? Biting an opponent in the middle of a game? We aren’t Slytherins, Rey. We don’t play that sort of game.”

“I’m not-”

“Is your lot done flailing around out there?” a sharp voice interrupted from the side of the pitch. A crowd of silver and green hugged the side of the enclosure, a series of pinched faces glaring over at Rey and her teammates. Slytherin Captain Gwen Phasma led the charge, a towering sixth year who was considered one of the most dangerous beaters to ever grace Hogwarts’ quidditch league. Despite her generally foul demeanor, Rey couldn’t help but feel thankful for the intervention.

“We’ve got the pitch reserved for seven o’clock,” Phasma said with a sniff. “ If your team hasn’t learned how to fly in a straight line yet, it’s simply a lost cause. Vacate the premises.”

“It’s 6:58! We have two minutes!” Zorii snapped as she tossed a quaffle so hard at Paige that she nearly dropped it. “Brooms up!” she shouted to her team.

“120, 119, 118, 117...” the redhead to the left of Phasma, Armitage Hux, interrupted with a snide check of his watch.   
  
“It’s going to take more than two minutes to save that sorry excuse of a team,” Phasma retorted. A handful of the Slytherin team tittered. Rey noticed that Ben Solo did not join, but he did stare unflinchingly at the Gryffindor team, puffed up like an animal trying to intimidate his opponent. A great lunking guard dog, Rey thought as she studied his stance.

“Two minutes is all it’s going to take for us to beat your sorry arses again,” Zorii shouted.   
  
“...68, 67, 66, 65, 64...” the insufferable redhead continued.

“Last chance this year, isn’t it, Bliss?” Phasma says lazily from the sidelines. “A shame you’ll be letting down Gryffindor for another year. But then again, maybe they’ll pick an actual captain that knows her way around a quidditch pitch, next time.”

“Who knows her way around how to  _ cheat  _ on the quidditch pitch, more like!”

“...28, 27, 26, 25, 24…”

“Tell that to the three straight years we’ve won the cup.”

“I’ll tell it to your fucking giant arse, Phasma!”

“And that’s your time,” Hux interrupted as he smugly brandished his timepiece. 

“That’s our time, huh?” Zorii shouted, tossing her broomstick to the ground and stalking over. Hux instinctively flinched. “That’s our time? That’s rich coming from a seeker whose entire muscle mass amounts to less than what’s in my own left arm! You want to come closer with your daddy’s borrowed pocket watch and see what we’re made of? Snap’s got a bludger with your name on it, you little weasel!”

“We are  _ not _ brawling on the pitch,” Paige interrupted, pulling Zorii backwards. “Are you insane? You’re going to get disqualified from future matches unless you rein it in, Zor.”   
  
“And you think Niima’s not in control of her emotions,” Jessica muttered, jumping as she realized that Rey was still standing behind her. “Sorry, Rey. Just… You know…”

“It’s fine,” Rey answered blandly.

“Let it go,” Paige said, turning Zorii’s entire body around in order to break her line of sight. “Don’t stoop to their level. You know they just like riling you up like that.” Zorii muttered a halfhearted agreement as Paige regained the Gryffindors’ attention. “Listen up, everyone. Good practice, good first match, and Happy Christmas,” Paige continued on Zorii’s behalf. “Rest up well and be ready to kick some arse next term!”

Limbs still stiff from the cold, the Gryffindor team staggered to the bench to gather their equipment before splitting off into the locker room. Despite Paige’s attempts, the air was thick with tension as each player muttered noncommittal well-wishes for the holiday. With a heavy sigh, Rey sat down at the bench, her head in her hands.

“You’re a natural on a broom, you know.” Rey looked up from the bench as Poe took the empty seat next to her. “Don’t take it personally. It’s Zorii’s last year, so she’s desperate to win the Quidditch Cup before leaving. She just gets like this sometimes. My first year we ended up running suicides till I puked,” he said with a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder.

“You guys have all been playing together for two years,” Rey said, hunching lower. “She’s right. I’m an amateur.”

“You’re fresh,” Poe answered. “You’re intuitive and aggressive and impulsive, yes. But that’s not a bad thing, Niima.”   
  
“Did you end up almost plummeting to your death during your first game?”   


“Well,” Poe answered carefully. “No. But, that’s hardly going to be the case for every match, Rey.”   
  
“And how many times did you drop the quaffle today?”   
  
“Rey don’t do this to yourself,” Poe said with a sigh. “It was a bad practice. That’s it. You can’t beat yourself up about it. Besides,” he continued with a grin, “You know Paige and I have got your back. We all make each other look good out there.”

“I guess,” Rey conceded.

“Well,” Poe said as he stretched and rose from his seat. “I don’t know about you, but I could go for something hot to bring feeling back to my limbs. Want to see if there’s anything left to eat at the Great Hall?”

“I’ll be there soon. Just need a breather,” Rey said as Poe gave an uncertain nod. Reluctantly, he exited the stands with a wave and a promise to help her with her transfiguration homework later that night.

Despite her promise, Rey did not follow shortly after. As she sat in the stands, subtly wiping away her own tears, she watched as the Slytherin team accomplished play after play of perfect passes, lost in her own thoughts. If Rey wanted to make a place for herself on the team, one thing was clear: she’d have to prove that she belonged and wasn’t merely some fourth year her teammates were taking a chance on. In the back of her head, Ben Solo’s warning from earlier that year echoed through her mind. Would she be enough to be kept on as a first-string player if she continued to mess up?

Watching onward, Solo swerved so suddenly that Rey could have sworn he was crashing. Last minute, he swung upwards and to the left, quaffle swishing cleanly through the hoop. As he let out a brief shout of victory to his teammates, Rey had to begrudgingly admit to herself that Ben Solo’s talent could not be questioned.

* * *

“You aren’t completely terrible on a broom.”

Ben looked up from his table at the library, his copy of Defensive Magical Theory slipping from his grasp when he saw Rey Niima, of all people, take the seat opposite of his. Quickly, he searched the room, looking for whatever gaggle of Gryffindors put her up to this and readying his wand under the table.

“What are you doing?” he asked, seeing no offending Gryffindors in sight.

“My transfiguration essay,” Rey hummed, unfurling a roll of parchment and licking the tip of her quill before dipping it into Ben’s own pot of ink. “You only have black? No blue?”

“What do I look like? A Flourish and Blotts?”

Rey shrugged, tapping her quill against the table to get off the excess ink and sending a thin arc of liquid across the table. Ben all but hissed, pulling his own materials closer to him with a glare. It would figure that the first time Rey Niima talked to him in over a month, she would only be doing so in order to get under his skin. Purposefully, he moved over a seat, Rey sending him a small smirk as he readjusted. 

“So, I’m apparently not bad on a broom,” Ben said suspiciously, avoiding eye contact as he flipped a page in his book.

“Apparently,” Rey said with a snort. 

“And how exactly did you come around to realize this very obvious truth?”

“Don’t get full of yourself, Solo,” Rey said as she blew on her parchment to dry the ink. “I said you were good on a broom, not that you should be given your own chocolate frog card.”

“Never been a fan of chocolate frogs. Too squirmy on the way done. Now, licorice snaps I can get behind.”

Rey looked at him blankly. “No one under the age of fifty like licorice snaps, you psychopath.”

“Not everyone has the taste buds of a five-year-old,” Ben muttered. “Listen, I can only do this whole ‘pleasant conversation’ thing for so long before the insults start coming up again. Do you have any particular reason for bothering me with your presence?”

“What? I can’t have a pleasant conversation with a mortal enemy?”

“I like the insults better,” Ben admitted.   
  
“Your face looks like the back end of a troll. Better?”

“Much better,” said Ben with a nod. “Now, leave.”

“I would prefer not to,” Rey insisted, moving another seat closer as if in protest, her shoulder almost knocking into his own. He had half a mind to elbow her in the rib as she scooted ever closer.

“Niima, there are over a hundred tables in this damn room, and you choose to sit next to me,” Ben said, the challenge clearly building in his voice. “If you aren’t here for any other reason than to do this Defense Against the Dark Arts homework for me, I suggest you get your scrawny arse out of here.”

Muttering a defeated “Fine,” Rey angrily gathered her materials into a messy bundle and hitched her school bag up on her shoulder. At the end of the table, she halted, staring down at her books and chewing at her lip like a small child who knew they were about to get yelled at.

“Does the offer still stand?”

“What offer are we talking about, Niima?” Ben asked lazily, adding the final period to answer number two. “I’m a busy man. Can’t keep track of every witch that’s trying to proposition me.”

“Do you want to coach me in quidditch or not?”

Ben’s lip curled backwards. “Interesting.” He leaned forward, pulling Rey’s books from her hands and forcing her to meet his eyes. Hazel. Huh. “I suppose it’s not so much about what I want, though. It’s what  _ you  _ want.” 

“I’m bloody asking, aren’t I?”

“And yet, the question remains: why?”   
  
“Because I want to fly better, okay?” Rey said, slamming her books down in exasperation. “Because I don’t want to go back to the reserve team next year. Because I want to hold that shiny Quidditch Cup in my hands and gloat in your face. Because I’m after stealing all your Slytherin secrets and learning how to reanimate the dead. Because, and I hate to admit this, you’re infuriatingly good on a broomstick and the fact that you’re actually offering to teach me is a better opportunity than I could ever have expected! Take your fucking pick, Solo. I can’t say I entirely know the answer to that question.”   


“You think I can help you stay on the team,” Ben repeated. He couldn’t doubt it was delicious, seeing his opponent desperate for his aid. He’d remember this moment the next time some foul Gryffindor got all self-righteous on him. Still, he was surprised to see that beneath all that anger that Rey Niima presented as she asked for his help, there was a layer of fear and uncertainty that he could see in her eyes. “Didn’t know Gryffs actually listened when being talked to. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I’m a fucking jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans.” 

“Once again, cannot compare to the bite of a good licorice snap.”

“Still wrong on that one. But, yeah,” Rey said with a deep breath and a nod. “I need your help. I can pay you, if that’s what you need.”

She couldn’t. Ben knew she couldn’t. It only took one look at her second-hand robes and crumpled quill to know that Rey didn’t carry as much as an extra sickle in her pocket. Why she would even offer, he had no idea. “I don’t need money. Your groveling is it’s own reward,” Ben lied. “As long as you’re willing to listen to me completely without question, I’ll take you on, Niima.”

Her smile brightened. “Nice! So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Ben repeated blankly. 

“What, have you received too many bludgers to the head?” Rey responded impatiently. “I seriously doubt your Slytherin minions would be all too happy about you hanging out with a Gryffindor. I’d rather not receive death threats from Armitage Hux or get jinxed by Bazine Netal in the hallways.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You assume too much to think they’d even know your name, Niima.”

“Armitage Hux can barely tell the difference between a quidditch hoop and his own arsehole. I could hardly care if he knows of my existence as long as he’s not casting shoddy spells in my direction.”

Ben cracked a small but honest-to-goodness smile at that one. Armitage Hux, Slytherin’s newest team member this season, had proved himself insufferable within the few months that Ben had the displeasure to play with him. If the weasel-faced git wasn’t complaining about mudbloods using the same pitch as them, he was accusing his own teammates of cursing his broom every time he failed to catch the snitch. It took most of Ben’s willpower to not set his broom on fire on a weekly basis.

“No one’ll notice. Not if we do it at night,” Ben answered. “That is, as long as you’re not too much of a good little Gryffindor to break a couple of school rules.”

Rey preened, her head lifting with a haughty expression. “I’ll have you know that I can be surprisingly sneaky,” she confirmed. “I’ve broken into the kitchens on numerous occasions. I’m on a first-name basis with the house elves and everything.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Ben admitted. “Sneaking out of the castle is different, though. If you let anyone know, and I mean  _ anyone _ , we’re both looking at a week’s worth of detention, at the very least. Can you handle it?” Rey nodded. “Good. And once a week, the day before flying, we’ll meet up in the library to discuss best practices.”

Rey raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the particularly studious type, Solo. How very un-Slytherin of you.”

“Ambition and knowledge go hand-and-hand,” Solo responded with a roll of the eyes. “Theory comes first. The best flyers start with the research, then use instincts to improvise.”

“Maybe. But, one of our friends is going to notice if we meet here on a regular basis,” Rey insisted. “Flying only. No other meetings.”

Of course she wouldn’t let this be easy. 

“I know that Gryffindors are notoriously stupid, but maybe you should just be thankful that I’m offering to help at all, Niima,” Ben argued. “Like I said, this only works if you get it through your thick skull that you’ll need to listen to me. Entirely. Once a week we fly. Once a week we meet,” Ben insisted. “Tell your little pals that I’m fucking tutoring you. Charms class or something.”

“I’m ace at charms.”   


“Then make it potions. Does it matter? You can tell them I’m holding you hostage for all I care. I’m not particularly afraid of a couple shrimpy Gryffindors,” said Ben. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll count this as our first library meeting so you don’t have to worry about it this week. Tomorrow night, meet me at the pitch at 2:00 am for flying. Deal?” Ben extended his hand, and Rey looked on warily as if expecting it to shoot sparks at her. He would have laughed in any other situation.

“I don’t know why I’m trusting you,” Rey answered, taking his hand in hers. As they shook, Ben couldn’t help but notice that while her hand was significantly smaller than his, they were as rough and calloused as any seasoned quidditch player. “If this is some sort of plot to steal secrets from the Gryffindor playbook, I’ll do more than just bite your arm this time.”

“Ah, is that a promise?”

“Ha, fucking ha, Solo,” Rey responded, letting out a deep breath. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Most definitely,” Ben said with an all-out grin. “Can’t get any better without a couple of bruises and nicks, can we?”


	4. Soaring

Getting to the quidditch pitch that late past curfew was easier said than done. After asking around the common room, most people had a sure-fire way to get to the kitchens or the astronomy tower, but very few bothered to exit the castle itself, especially in the dead of winter. Luckily, after a bit of cajoling, Rey discovered that Kaydel Ko Konnix had been sneaking out all year to snog her boyfriend in the boathouse after hours. Sure, Rey had to allude to a pretend boyfriend of her own in order to get the information, but she at last had a reliable escape route out of the castle.

Kaydel was easy to convince. After bribing Kaydel by promising to finish her charms essay for her, Rey had finally gotten the information that she needed. At exactly 1:30 in the morning, Rey pulled on one of her oldest hoodies and a thick pair of sweatpants before snagging her quidditch bag and sneaking out of the common room. After ducking out of the way of an on-duty Hufflepuff prefect and slipping past the Hogwarts caretaker, Enric Pryde, Rey finally caught her breath as she rounded the corridor on the first floor and caught sight of the statue of Wilfred the Wistful. Wand extended, Rey tapped his left eye and then his right in quick succession. A loud grinding sound erupted before her, and Rey nearly ducked behind a nearby tapestry in fear that she’d been heard. Dipping downwards, the statue descended into the ground, revealing a cramped passage sloping into the cool stone. Breathing in the stale air, Rey lit her wand and began to walk.

As the air around her grew colder, Rey felt her hands grow jittery, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the temperature or from excitement. She would never admit it to Solo, but sneaking out in the middle of the night only made their situation more exciting. She was used to risks; early on in her childhood, she’d often ditch whichever foster-parent of the month she was saddled with in order to sneak into abandoned buildings and explore. After several instances of coming back with her clothing ripped and face covered in dirt, most families sent her on to the next foster-family, eager to be rid of such a street-urchin. Unkar Plutt held onto her a bit longer, using her penchant for exploration in order to scavenge for parts in his scrapyard. Of course, when a rusted nail shoved clear through her foot and ended up mending itself within 24 hours, both she and Plutt had realized that she was far from the average scavenger.

Nearing the end of the tunnel, Rey could see moonlight drifting in through the slats of a rusted gate that almost looked like a sewer drain to the untrained eye. Moving closer and pushing upwards, she could see that the exit had been thoroughly overgrown by the briar patches to the left of the Hogwarts’ boathouse. Shifting the gate upwards, Rey cursed as the thorns bit into her skin and snagged her sweatshirt, forming new holes in the already tattered fabric. Forcing her way through the brambles, she finally untangled herself and walked to the quidditch pitch under the light of the moon.

Her synapses were firing in every direction, a nervous yet excited energy that made her limbs twitch and a wobbly grin appear on her face. Why she was actually deigning to meet with Ben Solo for a private practice, she wasn’t entirely sure. Of course, she wanted to get better. But couldn’t she have just asked Poe to run some extra drills with her? Or had Jess and Snap send a couple extra bludgers her way during practice? What sort of death wish must she have if she was agreeing to meet with a dark wizard in-training who was nearly double her size and three times as threatening? Still, there was a thrill to it, sneaking around in the cool night air and knowing they could both be caught at any moment. At the very least, Ben Solo was the more exciting choice, and Rey had always loved the thrill of danger.

“2:08. You’re late, Niima,” Ben Solo said as she entered the pitch. The tip of his nose was reddened and his hair wind-tossed in a way that showed he must have started flying without her. 

“Sorry, professor,” Rey joked, pulling on her quidditch gloves and mounting her broom. “Won’t happen again.”

“Better not, or I’ll transfigure you into a timepiece,” Ben muttered. “So, first things first. Observation. 5 laps around the field, 4 dives, 4 corkscrew turns, and end with a double loop so I can see how you handle inversions.”

“Yes, captain,” Rey said with a roll of her eyes. She grinned as she ascended in the air and felt the wind greet her face. They were relatively easy instructions; she completed them, in her opinion, with flawless accuracy when she landed in front of Ben with a cheeky smile. He chewed his lip, lost in thought.

“Again,” he instructed. “Faster, this time.”

“As you wish,” Rey complied, once again running the drill. She landed, slightly more winded.   
  
“Faster,” Ben instructed as she took to the air with a sigh.

“Still too slow. Again.”

“Faster, Niima. Pick up the pace”

This continued for nearly a half hour until Rey felt her head spinning from the numerous spirals and loops. A headache was burgeoning behind her eyelids from a combination of the nonstop flying and a growing lack of sleep.   


“Are you finally satisfied, or is the goal of this exercise just to turn me into a mindless gollum, following instructions over and over again until my brain breaks down?” Rey bit as her feet finally touched the ground.

“You need a new broom,” Ben said as he reached around Rey’s back and snapped a twig off it’s end.

“Hey!”

“How are you even staying in the air?”

“It’s called magic, Solo,” Rey said with a roll of her eyes. “My broom’s fine. It works.”

“It’s working  _ against _ you,” Ben clarified with a sigh. “Every time you take a left turn, you nearly lose your balance. When that happens, you grip your legs too tightly and you lose control of your upper-body. No wonder you didn’t make first-string. Here. Try my Silencer.”   


Rey glanced warily at the sleek broomstick that Ben held to her. Even in the dark, Rey could see it was immaculately cared for without a single twig out of place.    
  
“What are you doing?” Ben asked as she failed to move.

“Looking for curses.”

“Really, Niima?”

“It’s too nice,” Rey whispered to herself, delicately taking hold of the handle. “This is the newest model, isn’t it? I can’t fly this.”

Ben looked at her incredulously. “Are you allergic to anything that costs more than 50 galleons? Get on the damn broom and run the drill again.”

With a deep breath, Rey swung her leg over the broom and felt her hands fit seamlessly around the grip. It felt like the broom was made for her. Perfect and expensive as hell. Offhandedly, she mused how unfair of an advantage students with money must have if they could afford broomsticks like this to carry them to victory. Shoving the thought to the side and trying to enjoy the damn moment, Rey kicked off the ground. 

The air rushed loudly in her ears, her hair flying out of her bun as she hurtled upwards at an alarming pace. Each loop felt so smooth that her body barely registered the switch in perspective. Ben was a blur below her as she raced down the pitch, and she couldn’t help but let out a whoop as she took her first dive and pulled up a mere foot from the ground with perfect handling. By the time that Rey returned, her cheeks hurt from a combination of the frigid wind hitting her face as well as the giant grin plastered from ear to ear.

“That was,” she huffed as she tried to catch her breath, “absolutely  _ incredible _ ! That’s how you feel every time you fly? No wonder you want to go on to play professional!”

“I want to play professionally because I respect myself enough not to half-ass my effort, Niima,” Ben clarified. Rey felt the challenge building in her gut, but bit her tongue from the oncoming retort. Not even sourpuss Ben Solo could ruin her high.

“Surprised you even let me try that thing. Silencers don’t come cheap, especially a new model.” It was as close to a ‘thank you’ as Ben would receive.

“Well,” Ben said with a shrug. “You seem to know your way around a broomstick.”

“Oh, thank Merlin that Rose isn’t here to hear that right now,” Rey laughed, nervous energy expelling out of her. Ben looked on, confused.

“I wouldn’t worry, Niima. I’m sure your friend wouldn’t assume that you're cheating on your little boyfriend.”   
  
“Boyfriend?”   
  
“You know,” Ben offered. “Peanut.”   
  
Rey’s face flamed. Sure, Finn and her had their fair share of crushes during first year, but it hadn’t gone further than a spell of public hand-holding and a few innocent kisses. By this point in their relationship, Finn was more than a brother than a potential romantic prospect. Besides, she couldn’t compete with the slew of students currently desperate for Finn’s attention. Not that Finn was even aware, of course. According to him, Rose and Janna (and even Poe) were just being friendly. Never mind that all three of them had requested his presence at romantic walks around the Black Lake at various points within the last four years.

“Finn’s a friend,” Rey corrected. “I’m actually one of the few people  _ not _ in love with him.”   
  
“Ah. A playboy, huh?”   


“Not at all,” Rey laughed. “Poor Finn wouldn’t know romance if it bit him on the nose. Poor kid has more natural charisma than he knows what to do with. Do you know how many people he’s had to dodge under the mistletoe this year? It’s like watching him dance around landmines.”   
  
“As fascinating as the life and times of underclassmen Gryffindors are,” Ben interrupted. “I believe it is past curfew, Ms. Niima.” Packing up his broom, Ben returned to the bench and rummaged around inside his school bag. Huffing from the weight, he produced a solid stack of books, all with worn covers and crinkled pages.

“And what’s this? A gift for the Chrimbo Hols?” Rey said with a wink.

“Homework,” Ben explained as he shoved the stack of books into her arms, and Rey could have sworn she saw the tips of his ears grow pink in the moonlight. “There’s a little bit extra in there since we can’t meet again until next term. Check the dog-eared pages. Take notes. Write down any questions you have.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Ben Solo.”

* * *

“You’re secretly dating someone,” Rose said conspiratorially as she dragged an armchair close to Rey the next evening in the Gryffindor common room.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I won’t tell anyone!” Rose promised. “I heard from Jessica who heard from Kor Sella who heard from Kaydel Ko Konnix that  _ you _ were sneaking out late for a bit of midnight snogging, you cheeky wench!”

Rey’s heart fell to her gut. Oh, no.

“Well, spill!”   
  
“There’s nothing to spill,” Rey insisted, furtively holding Ben’s copy of “A Quidditch Encyclopedia” close to her chest. “I’m not dating anyone! And if I was, I’d tell you!”

“Rey, you know that after four years of friendship I can tell that when you’re hiding something,” said Rose as she peered closer at Rey’s reddening face. “The question is: why? Is he someone we know? Someone embarrassing? That third-year who thinks he can talk to plants? That one Ravenclaw boy who smells suspiciously like fish?”   
  
“You mean, the one who you think is a merman in disguise?”

“There’s no proof that he isn’t,” Rose insisted.

“Rose, Aftab’s father teaches transfiguration. He’s probably just an animagus or something,” Rey argued, the discussion played out so many times already.

“Rey, I promise I will not judge you for dating whoever it is, even if they’re a potential sea serpent,” Rose pleaded with wide eyes. “I’m good at keeping secrets! You know I’ll keep my mouth shut! Okay, I’ll probably tell Poe and Finn. But, besides that? Not a soul! Okay, maybe Kaydel, too.”

“Can we not talk about this right now? You guys leave for holiday tomorrow. I don’t want to waste my time talking about stupid boys,” Rey said with a groan. Then, eager for a change in topic: “Tell me, did you like your Christmas gift?”

“You said not to open it until the day of.”   
  
“Never stopped you before,” Rey teased as she leaned out of her chair and poked her in the ribs. Rose huffed, looking offended by Rey’s audacity to assume such accusations.

“I’m impressed at your ability to find a Weird Sisters album that I didn’t already own,” Rose finally conceded. “The b-sides they included are stellar! Did you even know that they made an acoustic version of ‘Niffler’s Heart of Gold’? I swear, Rey, you haven’t  _ lived _ !”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Rey said with a laugh. 

“Hopefully you’ll like mine just as much,” Rose insisted. “Finn helped me pick it out.”

“So I can blame him if I don’t like it?”   
  
“You’ll like it,” Rose insisted. “Let us know what you think after Christmas. And tell me what romantic gift your mysterious secret boyfriend bequeathed upon you. No excuses!”

Rey hummed in agreement and reopened her book. Rose chattered with her for a bit before deciding to grab her own book and join Rey in comfortable silence.

As many times as Rey tried to refocus on the difference between French and Russian broom gripping techniques, her mind refused to cooperate. It had only been three days, and she had already blown her cover. If Rose kept asking questions, rumors would spread throughout Gryffindor tower like fiendfyre. She could only imagine the chewing out she’d get from Zorii about fraternizing with the enemy, and Finn would probably assume she’d been imperiused by some dark wizard. 

Or worse, they might all assume that Ben and Rey were doing far more than a bit of platonic fraternizing. Horrified, she pictured what that would be like. Ben Solo waiting on her every word, offering her roses and trying to kiss her under the mistletoe. She almost sputtered at the thought. Ben Solo did not dote, especially on muggle-born Gryffindors with barely two knuts to rub together. She’d settle for quidditch coach and be happy with that.

It would be okay, Rey tried to convince herself. All would be forgotten by the time they returned from break. Most couples barely made it through the holidays. Why should she and her pretend boyfriend be any different? Rose would forget, as would Jessica and Kaydel. She and Ben Solo would just have to be careful from now on.

Flipping to the middle of her book, a page on how to achieve the perfect Meyer’s Inverted Pass caught Rey’s eye. The paper was filthy and crumpled, as if someone had spilled something on it and had left it out to dry. The pages lay flat as if the book had been left open on that entry for ages in the past, and in the margins, notes were etched in the messy scrawl of a child: how to angle the broom, how to adjust the grip during the pass-off. “Learn for tryouts,” the notation instructed with each word underlined. Rey had that sudden image of a small, second-year boy with dark hair and giant ears pouring painstakingly over the textbook, and she could not help the smile that came to her face.

“Thinking of your boyfriend, huh?” Rose asked with a knowing smirk.

Rey could only blush in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kindness. <3


	5. Clutching

Christmas break came and went with little fanfare. 

Rose’s gift, a finely made pair of clippers for her broom, was thoughtful, but Rey couldn’t help but be reminded of how inferior her broom was in comparison to Ben Solo’s Silencer. Finn’s practice quaffle and Poe’s equipment bag only further hammered home the realization that no matter how much care and practice went into her flying, those with enough money to buy the right broom would always be a step ahead. Rey halfheartedly trimmed the edges of her ramshackle broom before sending a hastily written thank you to her friends that she’d owl to them the next morning.

The rest of break was a blur of pouring over Ben’s books, going for a few flights out on the quidditch pitch whenever the snow let up, and visiting Chewbacca for a bit of tea every few days. Of the small handful of students who stayed behind during break, Rey had no real relationship with them beyond giving a quick nod of recognition and a perfunctory “Happy Christmas.” Rey did play a quick game of gobstones with an underclass Gryffindor, a first year named Vi Moraldi, but by the time January first had rolled around, she was desperate for companionship with people her own age.

As Rey predicted, Rose seemed to have forgotten entirely about her fake boyfriend. The night of their return, Rey was relieved that they spent more time playing with Finn’s new Wizard’s Chess set than talking about any possible romantic endeavors.

“You’re trash at this, you know,” Finn muttered as his bishop smashed Rey’s knight within three minutes. “You know that most people think before they move, right? Strategize?”

“Rey’s got the power of instincts,” Poe argued as he elbowed Finn. He’d appointed himself ‘referee’ at the beginning of the round, though he’d so-far spent most of his time trying to sneak Rey’s pawns back onto the board when Finn wasn’t looking. Finn rolled his eyes, once again shoving Poe’s wandering fingers away from the game board. “There’s a reason why she’s my star offensive chaser.”

“Rey’s got the power of the most annoying guardian angel in the world,” he responded shoving Poe into Rose with a laugh. “If you so badly want to get your arse trounced again, you’re up next, Dameron.”

“Quaking in my boots.”   
  
Grinning in triumph, Finn stared Poe straight in the face as his knight swung it’s sword at Rey’s king and sent it toppling to the ground. “Rey made it to eight minutes. Can you beat that, Dameron?”

“Next year, I’m getting you a chessboard where you can just play against yourself,” Rey said as she shook her head and gathered her school bag and broom. “Might be the only way to give you a challenge.”

“Rey, are you really headed out to fly?” Rose said with a sigh. “It’s our first night back! Can’t you pretend not to be obsessed for at least twenty-four hours? We haven’t even gotten into the proper girly gossip!”

“Thank Merlin,” Finn muttered. “If I have to hear one more time about your theory about how D’Arcy and Tyce are in a secret relationship, I’m going to tear my hair out.”

“I saw them snogging!”   
  
“They’re professors!” Finn argued. “Professors don’t snog!”   
  
“You know, you’re right,” Rose considered. “They don’t snog. They fu-”

“Well on that note, you all have a lovely evening discussing the love-lives of our teachers,” Rey said as she finally extricated herself from the conversation. For once, one of Rose’s many theories held some truth to it. In all actuality, the herbology professor and the flying professor had not seemed so secretive during Christmas break where they had no qualms about holding hands in the Great Hall. It was rather sweet seeing them a bit more casual with one another during the holidays, but Rey could only imagine the gossip that would erupt if the whole school was there. “If you’d excuse me, I’ve got some business to attend in the library.”

“Library?” Poe questioned as he pointed to her broom.

“Er. Library first. Then flying. I’ve got charms to finish. Extra credit,” Rey said, stumbling through the lie.

“What extra-”   
  
“Bye!” she shouted as the portrait door swung open, mentally cursing herself. At this rate, Rey would surely blow her cover by February. She could only imagine Ben’s look of disdain for her complete lack of subterfuge. 

* * * 

It sickened Ben to think that Armitage Hux was the closest thing to a friend that he had. A terrible friend, of course, but at least someone with a decent enough house to crash at and a tremendous love for gloating about Ben’s familial disasters that it seemed unlikely that he would turn him away. It had taken exactly three days into Winter Break and seven circular arguments before Ben had marched out of his mother’s house, broom clenched as he inexplicably found himself flying two villages over to Armitage’s house.

‘House’ was selling it short, of course. The Hux’s estate was massive, and Ben often wondered if it was designed just big enough so that Mrs. Hux would lose sight of Armitage and promptly forget his existence. For all of Armitage’s pure-blood pride, there was no arguing one thing: Armitage was nothing more than a bastard that was a permanent blemish on the Hux family reputation. Ben supposed that Brendol Hux could have left the boy with his mistress, his former secretary at the Ministry of Magic, but one look at Armitage’s identically pinched face and bright red hair would signify the truth to the outside world in an instant. No matter how hard the boy tried to live up to his name, it earned him no more than a passive grunt from his father and a sneer from his so-called “step-mother.” Ben supposed that this was the one reason why he withstood Armitage and all of pompousness. He understood what it felt like to not be to live up to expectations. He felt a shared sense of pity for the boy.

By the end of Christmas break, however, that pity had all but disapparated. There were only so many snide comments and passive-aggressive remarks that Ben could take before snapping. On more than one occasion, one of them had thrown a punch or two, resulting in a couple of badly bruised ribs and one broken nose which Armitage had sneakily fixed with magic and a hastily mumbled “sorry.”

“Did you see Mitaka on the train? I don’t even know why they bothered to send him back after break,” Hux complained as he set to unpacking his suitcase. “Boy’s no better than a Squib.”

“Okay.”

“And somebody must’ve bought Bazine Netal a new push-up bra, because her tits look amazing.”

“Huh.”

“Speaking of tits, if Zorii Bliss would stop acting like a troll all the time… Gryffindor or not, I’d have a go with that one.”

“You done yet?”

Hux glared. “Oh, excuse me. Didn’t realize you were so busy talking to your millions of other friends. Tell me, Solo, are you short on time? Got a big ice cream social to catch?”

“I have places to be,” Ben answered with what he hoped was a noncommittal shrug. The less Hux knew of his extracurriculars, the better. He’d rather not know what Armitage thought of Rey or her tits.

“Hot date with your quidditch broom?” he sneered. 

“Hot date with your mum.”

Chucking a heavy copy of “Hogwarts, A History,” at Ben’s head, Hux hissed a nasty cuss word and brandished his middle finger. Laughing, Ben mimicked the action before slamming the door and heading down the stairs.

He had company to attend to, after all.

* * *

Rey was already there as he entered the library, book spread open as she poured through the pages. Her lips moved slightly as she read, Ben noted. He slid into the seat opposite her, and she jumped as he broke her concentration.

“I see you didn’t bother to get a new broom for Christmas,” Ben said with a nod in the direction of Rey’s Cleansweep. He was never one to waste time with ‘hellos’. Better to cut straight to the chase.

“Some people have to buy their own brooms, not just get them as gifts from their rich mommies and daddies,” Rey said, rolling her eyes. 

“Ouch. My poor heart,” he responded dryly. In actuality, Ben had refused to allow his mother to buy his broom for him, and he wouldn’t let his father touch his broomstick with a ten-foot pole. Rey didn’t need to know that, of course. If being in Slytherin had taught him one thing, it was that when it came to either being empathetic or being feared, it was best to choose the latter. He’d rather not hash out the details of his work-obsessed mother and estranged father with a near-stranger, no matter how pampered she might assume he was.

“And what heart is that again?” she said, her face lighting up. He couldn’t help but grin back. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed their verbal sparring. Arguing with Hux could never compare.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty. One of a hippogriff. The other of a first-year Hufflepuff. One pickled and ripe for consumption, just as we speak.”

“Gross!” she laughed.    
  
“Why’d you bring that shabby thing in here, anyway? Planning to fly laps around the restricted section?”   
  
“Sloth grip roll,” Rey said plainly, pulling out Ben’s text and thrusting it under his nose. “It says in the book to turn your knuckles in but keep the thumb loose, which doesn’t make sense. How does that even make a grip? I’m literally just holding on by my fingertips like I’m some bloody chameleon? I’d rather not fall on my arse, thank you very much.”

“There’s a diagram,” Ben said as he opened the book and pointed to the drawing. “Do I have to teach you how to read, too, Niima?”

“Do I have to teach you manners, Solo?”

“Do I have to-”

“Shh!” the librarian, Madam Motto, hissed from her front desk. Ben rolled his eyes at the irony. Once Motto got going, she usually ended up far louder than the students as she frantically tried to shoo them out of her domain. He’d once seen her cast a silencing charm on a fifth year student that lasted nearly three says before it wore off.

“Motto’s going to have a heart attack if you don’t shut up,” Rey whispered.

“Motto looks like she’s always about to heart attack. That’s just her face.”

Rey snorted as she pulled the book back towards her. “Either way, getting kicked out of here isn’t going to help clarify this damn, stupid move. You’ve done this one before. I saw it last year in the game against Ravenclaw.”

“Flattered you paid attention,” Ben said. He was, truly. “It’s really not too complicated. Becomes second-nature once you get used to it, especially when you think about how it’s just a desperate attempt to avoid being knocked in the head by a bludger.”

“And it works?”

“Well,” Ben started, thinking back to the first few times he attempted the move. He recalled several sprained wrists and a few bruised shoulders. “Mostly. Really, it’s just a matter of-”

“Shit!”

Suddenly, Ben’s center of gravity gave way as the Gryffindor girl shoved him bodily beneath the table with a strength that belied her slight form. Ben hissed as he struggled in her grasp, head hitting sharply against the table. If he ended up with another concussion…

“Hey, Peanut! We’re heading down for dinner in ten minutes. You in?”

Of course. Peanut.

“Still working!” Ben heard her say. He shuffled a bit, trying to knock her hand off of his head. Did she really need to keep gripping him like that? “Not done!”

“Really?” Finn continued. “Don’t overwork yourself, Rey. It’s just extra credit.”

“Can’t talk! Need to finish charms!” she shouted clear across the room. Ben could practically hear the steam coming out of Motto’s ears. By this point, they probably had ten minutes before both of them would be chucked out of the library on their asses.

“Lower your voice!” Ben hissed as he tugged downwards on her pant leg.

“Would you  _ please _ stop moving,” Rey whispered through gritted teeth.

Yeah. Not bloody likely. With a satisfied grin, Ben placed his palm on Rey’s quad, creeping it ever upward. Her body tensed as his palm passed over her kneecap, still not stopping. She barely held in her screech as a swift kick connected with his shoulder. Worth it.   


“Are you alright?”   
  
“Fine, Finn! Stop worrying about me! I just need privacy to get this done, okay?”

Ben heard him grumble, clearly suspicious as he exited the library. Finally free from Rey’s grasp, Ben straightened out, his back sore from stooping beneath the table. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so bad at keeping a secret,” he told her.   
  
“I didn’t see you helping at all,” said Rey as she pointed an accusing finger. “Did you really have to scuffle around like some creep down there?”

Ben couldn’t help smirking. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Unsurprising,” Rey said, the annoyance still evident on her face as she slid his books back over to him. “We’re done here.”

Ben nodded. “Next round of flying is tomorrow night. Don’t be late this time or I’m making you run laps around the pitch and scrub the quidditch hoops until they’re spotless. No magic.”

“I’d rather not have to subject myself to an hour of flying with some stupid, Slytherin pervert,” she argued, wacking him in the arm.

“If I had a heart in my chest, I’d be wounded,” Ben responded. “Let’s do the math, shall we? In about a month and a half, we’ll both have our next matches. Me against Ravenclaw and you Gryffs against Hufflepuff. That means we’ve got about six more meetings before then. Six more chances to improve that so-called flying. Six more sessions and you can’t even wrap your head around a fucking  _ sloth grip _ ?” He scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re lucky this Slytherin pervert is giving you the time of day, let alone his expertise on the art of Quidditch.”

“‘Expertise’ is a stretch.”

“Expertise is what you’ll be getting,” he said matter-of-fact. “I know what I’m doing, Niima. You’re going to have to trust me on this one. Otherwise, you might as well just hand the win over to Hufflepuff.”

“We usually do well against Hufflepuff,” Rey argued. “Last year’s match was over in seventeen minutes.”

“Usually,” Ben agreed. “But it’s a brand new team this year, Niima, and they are a well-oiled machine. Even Slytherin’s keeping an eye on them. Rule number one in quidditch: never underestimate your opponent.”

She sighed, clearly conceding defeat. “Fine. Proceed in teaching me, oh great one.”

“Tomorrow we’ll run drills to figure out the best way to compensate for those laggy turns you’re taking on this poor excuse of a broom,” Ben said as he grabbed Rey’s Cleansweep and eyed it disdainfully. She scowled, but didn’t argue. 

“And this,” he said as he reached over, grabbing one of Rey’s hands. Carefully, he placed her fingers over the handle of the broom, his hands cupping hers as he perfected the placement. “This is how you position your hands for a sloth grip roll. Keep it flexible. Hold too tight and you’re in danger of breaking your wrist if the bludger still hits.”

He gripped her fingers softly, easing them so that her thumb loosened a bit more. The grin on her face as he slid his hands over hers was so wide that it seemed to brighten the room, and he was suddenly struck by the way the corners of her eyes crinkled in response. As he let go, Ben could swear he felt his fingertips tingling.

Oh, no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a bit of time before the next chapter. Writing's been going slow and things are quite heavy right now. Hope you are all doing well, and thank you for reading!


	6. Fouling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! As you can tell, I ended up changing the title of this work. Honestly, was never a fan of the old one. This chapter took a while to get through, but hopefully it's worth the wait. Stay safe out there, buddies, and thank you for your support!

The most frustrating part of their agreement was how often Rey had to admit that Ben was right. The match against Hufflepuff only solidified that fact.

“Pull up a little earlier when coming out of a dive. Otherwise you spend too much energy controlling your broom and too little time paying attention to where you’re going.”

Halfway through the match, she’d sent Cassian Andor sprawling in the mud when he tried to match her in a nosedive.

“A good chaser is just as much a defensive player as they are offensive. Don’t be afraid to get physical.”

She’d been wary of that one. Zorii had her on lock-down since the fouls she pulled against Solo during their last match. Still, while Rey didn’t manage to entirely unseat Bodhi Rook from his broom, she did force him to lose possession of the quaffle at least four different times. Surely, she thought as she recovered the fumbled quaffle, she’d be forgiven.

“Keepers expect most right-handed chasers to aim for the left hoop. Switch it up. Never aim for the same goal.”

For once, Chirut Imwe’s supernatural ability to block any and all shots had been thwarted; try as he might, he could not predict which way the quaffle would soar.

Eventually, Rey had lost count of how many times she’d heard her name called out by the quidditch commentator, but by the end of the match it had spread to an all-out chant in the Gryffindor section of the stands.

As Zorii’s hand closed around the golden snitch, it was official.

Hufflepuff had played spectacularly. 

Rey and the rest of the Gryffindor team played better.

“Tonight!” Poe said as he ruffled Rey’s hair and gripped her shoulders. “Tonight, we celebrate. Rey Niima: Gryffindor’s rising star!”

She laughed, pushing Poe off of her as they exited the locker rooms. Finn and Rose waited outside, Finn’s face painted red and gold while Rose clutched a homemade sign boasting Rey’s name in sparkling letters. A little cartoon quidditch player was enchanted to zoom in and out of frame, performing the occasional double-loop as it flew.

“I didn’t fall!” Rey said with a laugh as she embraced the two.

“You didn’t fall!” Rose confirmed, draping her banner across Rey’s shoulders like a cape.

“Damn, Peanut!” said Finn. “You did more than not fall. I’ve neer seen you fly like that! I’m pretty sure every quidditch player in the stands was shaking in their boots! Watch out, Ravenclaw! You’re next!”

“Ravenclaw, then back to Slytherin. We’re unstoppable!” Poe confirmed. “Did you see her up there, Finn? That move where she spun sideways to avoid Baze’s bludger at the last second and it knocked Bodhi Rook clear off his broom? Fucking stellar, I tell you!”

Rey laughed. “You’re the one who intercepted Andor’s passes on three separate occasions,” she said. “We’re clicking, aren’t we? The whole team. We might actually win the cup!”

“Not bad for a filthy mudblood.” 

At once, the excitement drained out of Rey’s limbs. Behind her, Armitage Hux and Gwen Phasma exited the stands with the usual band of Slytherins. Near the back, head and shoulders above most of his peers, Ben stood with hands fisted in his pockets. To most people, the cocked head and squared shoulders signified a challenge. But, after a few months of practice, Rey had learned Ben’s body language. Predicted when he’d toss a quaffle or go for a fake; studied how his lip would quirk slightly right before he’d speed full-throttle across the field. She’d seen him angry, defiant, joyful, and many other emotions she couldn’t quite put a name to. Ben’s stance did not signify a readiness to fight. His vacant expression as he gazed with gritted teeth out past the group of Gryffindors was not one of arrogance or defiance. Instead, it was pure avoidance. 

“Piss off, Hux. Like you weren’t having a panic attack while you were watching the game. Rey and I are going to kick Slytherin’s ass,” Poe argued, protectively slinging his arm around Rey. She could see his other hand deep in his pockets, clutching at his wand with apprehension.

“They were amateur skills, at best. But what can you expect from a mudblood flying on a scrapheap,” Hux said with a snicker.

“It’s sad, isn’t it,” Phasma agreed, peering coldly down her nose. “That her poor excuse for a broom is probably worth more than her clothing. I’ve had house elves whose pillowcases cost more.”

“Smell better, too. But, what can you expect from someone who comes from filth?”

Red sparks flew from Finn’s wand, meeting Hux’s face with an audible sizzle. Gasping, he clutched at Phasma’s arm, his face quickly swelling to double its size as his group scrambled for cover. Frantically, Phasma was reciting a countercurse, practically dragging Hux behind her. Rey could feel her glare as they shuffled away. Clearly, this wouldn’t be the end to the altercation.

“Do you want me to go back and throw them in the Great Lake?” Poe asked as he watched them recede. “Let the giant squid tear them apart?”

“Always a fan of a good bat bogey hex,” Rose chimed in.

“Ooo! Not a bad idea, Rose!”

Rey stayed silent, clutching the neck of her broom so tightly that she could practically feel the splinters piercing her fingers. Rose’s banner had slipped from her shoulders, puddling in the melting snow so that streaks of dirt and grit soaked its edges. 

“He’s a git,” Finn said, reaching for Rey’s arm and turning her to face him. “Don’t listen to him.”

“I’m not,” Rey said, shrugging her arm loose. 

“Seriously, Rey. Don’t listen to a word those assholes say. They’re idiotic and insufferable pricks. They’re the human equivalent of a vomit-flavored Bertie Botts bean. They’re trash and will always be trash. But, people like that will get what’s coming to them. The world’s changing, and there’s no place for people with the sort of bile that’s in their hearts.”

“I know, Finn,” Rey said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You guys head on in. I left my equipment bag in the locker room, but I’ll catch up soon.”

Finn gave one last look, clearly not convinced, but nodded just the same. Rey ducked back into the stands, taking a breath or two to calm her nerves. Slytherins were always assholes to her. Why would she expect anything different? Grasping her bag from the locker room, she finally exited the pitch, relieved that the crowd had greatly dissipated, leaving only a few stragglers.

“Hey!” she shouted, seeing Ben’s dark form lingering by the front gate of the stands. “Ben, wait!”    
  
He turned around, clearly suspicious as he waited for her to continue. Rey swallowed. Why she had called his name, she wasn’t quite sure. Part of her felt like yelling at him. He’d done nothing, after all, as his teammates pulled her apart and left her bare. The words were about to leave her mouth but, instead, all that came out was:   
  
“Celebrate with me?”

“What?”

“I mean,” she shuffled her feet for a moment. “You’re part of the reason I flew like that. So. Celebrate. With me.”

“I wouldn’t think your friends would approve.”

“I don’t mean right now,” Rey said with a roll of her eyes. “I hardly think you’d want to head up to the Gryffindor common room, no matter how killer the victory party is going to be. But later, we should meet up or something.”

“I hardly think a couple of butterbeers and Poe breaking out into some ridiculous fight song counts as a very exciting party.”

“You’ve never heard Poe’s rendition of ‘Beat Those Bloody Badgers’, though. Trust me, it’s historic.”

“Beat Those Bloody Badgers?” Ben repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“Poe’s a good singer, but he’s not the most nuanced of lyricists,” Rey admitted with a shrug. “Still, the verse about being shaving a badger bald and shoving it down a Hufflepuff’s pants is a stroke of genius that even you would appreciate.”

“I’ll trust you on that,” Ben said, the barest of smiles on his face. “The usual spot, then? Sometime around midnight?” he asked.

“Just to be clear, I won’t be singing for you out there,” Rey clarified, hiding her surprise that Ben Solo was actually willing to meet with her for something unrelated to practice. “But returning to the scene of my miraculous victory? Couldn’t think of a better place to celebrate.”

* * *

In truth, it was not as difficult to slip away from the Gryffindor common room once the butterbeers ran out and the harder liquor began flowing. By that point, most of the younger students, Finn and Rose included, had shuffled wearily off to bed while the older years stumbled around the common room, searching for someone to snog messily in the corners of the room. Poe, himself, had found himself preoccupied with a rather eager 5th year, Tallie Lintra, in the corner of the room and gave Rey no more than a half-dazed thumbs up as she exited through the Fat Lady’s portrait. Rey could only roll her eyes in amusement. If Poe remembered where he stuck his tongue the next morning, she would be more than impressed.

By the time she’d escaped to Quidditch stands and taken three laps around the pitch, Ben was waving from below with a bottle of amber liquid glinting in the moonlight. 

“Gryffindor’s celebration already ended? Would have thought you guys would be up way past midnight. Don’t tell me you were all following curfew.”

“Celebration’s still going strong,” Rey said as she dismounted her broom. “But they ran out of food and butterbeer. Now it’s just a bunch of dumb, drunk teens trying to charm their way into eachothers’ knickers.”

“Didn’t want to partake?”

“Not much for alcohol or knickers, thank you very much,” Rey answered. She raised an eye at the bottle in Ben’s hand. ‘Odgen’s Firewhisky’ stretched across its front in an impressive show of calligraphy and glittering sparks. “Really? Firewhisky?”

“Not interested?” Ben asked.

“Tastes terrible. Why drink that when you could subject your taste buds to something that’s actually enjoyable? Call me naive, but I’d prefer pumpkin juice on any day.”

Ben shrugged. “What’s a celebration without a little booze.” He tossed the bottle to her and, ever the skilled chaser, Rey caught it easily with one hand. It was nearly halfway finished, most likely opened on a previous night, perhaps during a Slytherin celebration of some sort. Curious, she weighed the bottle of Odgen’s in her hand, the amber liquid swirling as she inspected it and the bottle radiating heat against her icy palms. Shrugging, she uncorked the bottle, taking a swig and letting the liquid rush into her mouth.

Immediately, her body convulsed, coughing desperately as the liquid scorched her throat.

“Ugh. That’s disgusting! And you  _ purposefully  _ drink this stuff?”

“You’ve never tasted real alcohol before, have you?”   
  
“I’m fourteen.”

Ben shrugged, unimpressed. The memory of his first night of drinking came back to him in spurts, though admittedly most of it was very foggy. He had a vague memory of throwing up in a stairwell somewhere, possibly inside of a suit of armor. “Tried it for the first time at that age. Of course, it was after we’d won the Quidditch Cup. I suppose you’ll never get that chance considering Slytherin’s going to take it again. Might as well drink up.”   
  
Rey scrunched her nose, handing back the firewhisky. “First of all: rude. Second of all, I’d rather not consume something that tastes like goblin piss.”

“Doesn’t taste like piss,” Ben corrected, taking a substantial swig straight from the bottle. “Tastes like cinnamon and smoke. Tastes like fire. Thus the name, Niima.”

“Dragon piss, then.”

“Such an expert, are we?” He offered her the bottle again, and she took another dainty taste. 

“Ha, ha.” Rey rolled her eyes. She paused for a moment, letting the taste linger on her tongue. Ben swallowed hard, watching and waiting. “The second sip’s not as bad. I guess I taste the cinnamon a little bit. Overall, though, I really don’t see what the point is.”

“The point,” Ben said, snagging the bottle and taking a hefty gulp, “is more about the feeling than the taste. I’m insulted, though. This is good firewhisky, Niima. None of the Blishen’s crap. Had to snag it from Hux’s trunk, and everything.”

“Ugh. No wonder it tastes so bad. Essence of arsehole,” Rey said. Nevertheless, she grasped the bottle and downed another gulp with a grin, as if secretly enjoying the fact that Hux would find himself mysteriously liquor-less in the morning. Amused, Ben held his hand out to retrieve the bottle, raising an eyebrow in challenge before tipping the entire bottle back and finishing off the final few ounces of liquor before tossing the bottle to the side.

“I’m not taking care of you if you get too drunk to walk,” Rey warned. “Is this how you spend most of your Saturday nights in the Slytherin dungeons?”

“Common room,” he corrected. “Nothing like a dungeon. More like an aquarium, really. Big old giant squid staring at you when you’re trying to take a leak and all that.”   
  
“Now,  _ that  _ I’d like to see.”

Ben grinned, leering at her in a way that he probably wouldn’t have without a bit of liquid courage. “That interested in seeing my private bits, eh?”

“Piss off!” Laughing, she flopped to the ground extending her arms outwards into the frost-bitten ground. Giggling, she reached out to pull at Ben’s pant leg, urging him to join her.

“Really?” he asked as he loomed above her. She only grinned, pulling harder on his leg “I’m not so drunk that I can’t stand anymore, Niima.”

“Lay on the fucking field, already,” Rey said with a sigh. “I’ll scourigify you later, Solo. You’re really that afraid of a little dirt?”

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, flopping downwards. The cold bit into the skin underneath his clothing, but he had to admit that there was something peaceful about laying on the ground in the middle of the night, watching the stars flicker in the sky. “Just don’t expect me to start making snow angels. I’ve got to keep some sense of dignity.” 

Rey snorted at that, and Ben gave a playful shove to her shoulder. She retaliated with a handful of near-melted snow slapped onto Ben’s stomach, and Ben jolted as her fingers brushed against him, though not entirely in a bad way. Her hands were warm through the fabric of his sweater, small and fleeting against his chest, before she pulled them away. How could a person be so warm out here as the bone-chilling air gusted around them?

“One step closer to the cup, huh?” Ben said, a relaxed smile spreading across his face.

“You guys, too,” Rey acknowledged. “You flew circles around Djarin during the Ravenclaw match. I don’t think I’ve seen him so shaken up before. We might actually get to have a rematch between the two of us, huh?”

Ben just hummed in agreement, content in the moment. The liquor was rushing to his head, sending warmth to his limbs as he peered lazily at her. She smiled at him, and he once again was thrown by how her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she was truly happy. Her hair, frosted with melted snow, clung to her cheek, and Ben had the strangest urge to push it back for her. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, to hold his hands against the nape of her neck.

Shifting forward, he leaned over and positioned himself above her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, the same warm hazel he’d become familiar with over the last few months. He’d seen them light up so many times as she flew. He wanted to see them light up again. Not entirely in control of his body, he lowered his face downwards, hoping to bring that brightness to her eyes once more.

“What the hell, Ben!” Rey yelped as she leaned away before he made contact, pushing his hands off of her.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, fuck!

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”   
  
“No, it’s obviously not ‘nothing,’” Rey accused, shoving him further away. “What the fuck were you doing, Ben Solo?”

“Stop acting so full of yourself, Niima,” Ben argued as he scrambled to his feet. “I was just checking to see if you were still conscious after downing all of my firewhisky like some damn lush.”

“Were you trying to kiss me?”

Ben halted. There it was. He had been, hadn’t he? And she pushed him away. Of course she did. What was he thinking? Good little Gryffindor girls like her didn’t get tangled up with the likes of him. Of course she would push him away. What the ever-loving fuck was he  _ thinking _ .

“Like I’d want to touch you,” Ben sputtered. This was a mistake. A giant mistake. 

“Then, what was that? What’d you think? That you’d give me a couple flying lessons and I’d roll over and shag you?”

“Yeah, right, Niima,” he sneered. The embarrassment quickly transitioned into anger, and his head spun from the firewhisky coursing through his system. He desperately just wanted to obliviate the both of them and return to that one, perfect moment before had the stupid urge to try to kiss her. How much of an idiot was he? “You really think I’m that interested in you? Some stupid Gryffindor? You’re hardly my type!”

“And what is your type, then?” Rey said as her eyes narrowed. “Rich? Pure-blood? Slytherin with barely even two brain cells to rub together? So sorry I don’t meet your expectations.”

“What are you even-,” Ben halted and groaned in irritation. “Right, because you know me so well, don’t you Rey? So knowledgeable! I hardly think trying to help you stay on a broom every week makes you an expert on my affairs. You don’t know me, so stop pretending that you do.”

“Oh, please!” Rey shouted. “You act all high and mighty, yet here you are. Trying to roll around in the dirt with some disgusting little mudblood, right?”

“I never said that!” he argued. “I wouldn’t call you that!”

“Yeah, well,” she said as she crossed her arms. “Didn’t seem too bothered when your horrible Slytherin pals called me it earlier today.”

“What did you expect from me?” Ben argued. To be honest, he had regretted letting Hux say a single word to her, that little shit. “You were the one who wanted to keep our meetings a secret. Couldn’t bear to let your little friends know you were talking to me. Sorry that I didn’t jump to your defense when you wanted me to spend every day pretending I don’t even know your fucking name!”

“Just because you’re a Slytherin, that doesn’t mean you’ve got to act like a complete piece of shit. You could have human decency. Doesn’t matter if they knew we were friends or not, you could have at least stood up against your little pals for using such a  _ disgusting _ word!” Angrily, she shoved a palm into Ben’s chest, and he tipped backwards slightly. “You think I don’t know you, Ben Solo? I do. I know a coward when I see one.”

“You could at least say thank you, you know!” He felt like tearing at his own hair. He knew he should stop, but the words kept bubbling out, desperate and angry. “If it weren’t for me, you’d never have flown like you did today! You would have made your way back to the bench like the useless Gryffindor I saw during that first match. You were nothing but wasted potential. I made you something, Rey! Something that actually mattered! Don’t deny it.”

“Well, then.  _ Thank you _ , your excellency. Thank you for taking a risk and teaching a poor, pathetic muggle-born how to stay on her broom! Let me show how grateful I am by spreading my legs like some bloody slag and letting you have your way with me. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Maybe it would have been actually worth it, then!”

He regretted the words immediately. Rey stared at him, her face red and blotchy even in the moonlight. He almost reached for her, but stilled his hand for fear that she would bite it off.

“Whatever this is is over,” Rey said. Her voice was strained, as if each syllable had to be forced. “I’m not here for a cheap lay. It’s done. I don’t need you. And you clearly don’t need me.”

There were no more words after that. Rey clasped her broom in one hand and exited the training field, leaving Ben alone with nothing but a empty bottle of firewhisky.

* * *

Rey didn’t know why she was crying. She’d beaten Hufflepuff. She was the lead scorer on the entire team. Why should she feel this terrible about Ben Solo, of all people? Nevertheless, the tears came, her body curled in a fetal position as she laid in bed for hours after her argument with Ben.

There was a shuffling of curtains followed by a dip in the mattress. Rey calmed her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and blocked out the tears. If she was quiet enough, surely whoever it was would just leave.

“I’m sorry you broke up with Ben.”

Rey’s neck nearly snapped as she frantically met Rose’s eyes. The girl was settling into Rey’s bed, a look of worry spread over her face as Rey stared at her in shock. “Excuse me?”   
  
“It’s okay to be sad, you know. It’s human.”   
  
“You think I’m dating Ben Solo?”   
  
“Well, not anymore. Because you broke up.”   
  
“Rose, what are you even talking about?” Rey said, wanting to die on the spot. “Solo and I don’t even talk to each other. Why would you think we’re dating?”

“Because you meet on the quidditch pitch together every week in the middle of the night when you think no one’s looking.”

Rey grew quiet, processing just what Rose had said. She knew this would come, someday. She just didn’t expect to be found out so soon.

“You spied on me,” Rey stated.   
  
“Okay, well, maybe I kind of followed you one time. But only once! I swear!”   
  
Cradling her face into her hands, Rey groaned. “Oh, Merlin. How have Finn and Poe not yet cornered me? Or started some sort of civil war against the Slytherins. How long have you all known I’ve been meeting with Ben?”

“Believe it or not, I actually did keep a secret for once,” Rose said proudly. “Not that I see why. I mean, yeah he’s a Slytherin and all that, but he’s actually pretty good looking once you get past the aura of general evil that follows him everywhere. And the ears. The lips, though? And that voice? Damn.”

“Please, just stop,” Rey begged, mortified. Her head was spinning, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the firewhisky.

“I’m just saying, if given the chance,” Rose said with an exaggerated groan of yearning, “I would climb that boy like he was the Whomping Willow. I’m not going to judge you for dating a Slytherin of that caliber, especially if everything’s proportional.”

“We weren’t dating,” Rey said, her head still in her hands. “He was helping me with my flying. That’s all. Not anymore, though. He made it very clear what he thought of me tonight, and I’d rather not talk to him ever again.”

“He’s a git,” Rose confirmed. “You know how Slytherins are. Everything that comes out of their mouths is some sort of pure-blooded pride bullshit. They’re raised from birth to be complete arseholes.”

“He wasn’t, though,” Rey said. “Not like Hux and Phasma and all them. I don’t know. He hadn’t. Not until tonight. I feel like such an idiot, Rose.”

Rose shushed her. “You’re not an idiot. He was someone who you trusted, and he broke that trust.”

“I shouldn’t be feeling this way. He was just helping me with quidditch. He’s not supposed to matter this much.”

“Either way,” Rose said, clasping Rey’s hand. “If it’s an end to a relationship, whether it’s romantic or not? You’re allowed to mourn it. It’s obvious you lost something. That it was important to you. You’re allowed to feel things, Rey.”

Despite herself, Rey felt the tears leaking from her eyes in streaks. She hadn’t cried when she’d been tossed from foster family to foster family. Hadn’t shed a tear when she’d ended what few friendships she’d had before shipping off to Hogwarts.

Yet, here she was. Crying over Ben Solo.

Just what was it that she’d lost?


	7. Spiralling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Half a year later, and I'm finally writing again. Warning to you all, everyone's mad as hell in this chapter. Cheers!

Rey was in hell.

Not because she missed Ben Solo or anything. Not because Rose kept giving her secret, sad looks that kept triggering an unexplainable aftershock of misery in her chest. Not even because Finn kept asking her again and again why she was so on edge during every breakfast, suspiciously eyeing the Slytherin table as if he was going to exchange pleasantries with his fists at any given moment.

Rey Niima was in hell because she couldn’t fly for shit.

“Niima! If you drop that quaffle one more time, you’re doing twenty laps around the pitch, completely broomless!”

With less than a month left until their game against Ravenclaw, Zorii Bliss had transformed into tyrant mode. Rey’s general tenseness on the pitch and her shaky throws made her the perfect target for Zorii’s ire, and she’d left each practice feeling like a punching bag with all it’s stuffing knocked out. All of Bliss’s comments were true, though. Without all three chasers playing at their best, they had no chance in beating Ravenclaw and moving on to Slytherin or Hufflepuff (most likely Slytherin, to be fair) during the finals.

Rey grit her teeth, swooping downwards to snatch the fallen quaffle from the muddy ground and trying to let Zorii’s disdain slide off her shoulders during the descent. She stubbed her finger as she fumbled the quaffle into her hands, biting back a hiss and fighting the urge to clutch her injured hand to her chest. Furrowing her brow, she pressed the quaffle tighter to her stomach as she sped forward, tossing it over to Paige Tico so hard that the girl almost dropped it, as well. Thankfully, Paige Tico knew how to catch a quaffle, unlike Rey, apparently.

“Left!” Poe yelled as he sped past, nudging her shoulder and steering her out of the direction of a wayward bludger before it made contact. 

“I can see that, Poe!” Rey said with gritted teeth, the bludger whizzing past with a metallic ‘whoosh!’ just past her ear. She cringed inwardly. Without Poe’s input, she’d be sprawled on the pitch like some first year who’d mounted a broom for the first time in their life. “Cover Paige! I’ll take right if you take left!”   
  
Poe grinned as he shot ahead. “Nah, I’m taking below! You take above, Niima!”

Rey cursed as she sped behind him, dutifully positioning herself above Paige as they zoomed towards the goalposts. Take it on Poe Dameron to change the game plan halfway through a play. She could already hear Zorii’s rant during their cooldown exercises. She only hoped it wouldn’t result in a dozen and a half precision drill exercises before the end of practice. She could only do so many barrel rolls in a row before she could feel that morning’s breakfast creeping up her throat.

“Rey! Pull up!”

Poe’s warning was too late, however. It should have been second nature. Middle chaser scores, defending chasers get the fuck out of the way before managing to crash heads. But, as Paige’s throw arked perfectly through the middle hoop, Rey’s instincts refused to kick in and she hung dumbly in the air. Paige spun and throttled upward, crashing directly into Rey and causing her to whip her Cleansweep against the upper metal of the quidditch hoop, a sickening crunch echoing on the pitch as both Rey and Paige desperately attempted to straighten themselves and stop their ears from ringing.

“Walk it off, you two! We’ve got three more goals to run before we call it quits!” Zorii yelled as she hurtled the quaffle towards Paige’s head. “Bludger gauntlet run! Tico, you first!”

Rey began to zoom behind them, yet suddenly had the sensation of her broom pitching forward before the rest of her upper body was able to catch up. Wobbling wildly] in her seat, she carefully descended downwards, her broom jerking sporadically before she finally touched the pitch. Inspecting the wooden handle, her blood turned to ice as she spied a sizable fracture in the wood, bending the stick at a noticeable angle that only increased with any attempt at gripping it.

“Fuck!” she shouted, slamming the broom to the ground. The cracked handle splintered further, the wood bending at an almost ninety degrees. Her stomach clenched in revulsion, like she had broken one of her own appendages rather than just her broomstick. Blinking back angry tears, Rey cursed herself thoroughly. This was what she deserved for flying like shit.

“Uh,” Poe started as he dismounted his own broom and approached her warily. “Is something wrong?”

“ _ Obviously _ ,” she stated icily. She motioned to her fractured Cleansweep, resisting the urge to stamp it into the mud. Poe swore under his breath as he took in the sight. Sucking in his breath, he gingerly lifted the broom and reached out to test the wood, feeling it crack further beneath his grip.

“Merlin, Rey,” he muttered, turning the broom in his hands with the cluck of his tongue. He sighed, rubbing a hand against his brow as he tentatively gripped the handle as if about the mount. The broom shuddered to the ground before giving him a chance to lift a foot off the ground. He sighed again, shaking his head.

“Poe, I’m completely fucking aware of how fucked I am, so If you could just spare me the pity, that’d be just great!” Rey snarled, swiping her broken broom out of his hands and resisting the urge to push him out of her way.

“Okay, okay,” he said, putting his hands up in defense, “So, are we at the point in our friendship where we can stop lying about everything being normal and you can tell me what the hell’s been going on with you?” Poe asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she responded bitterly, clutching her Cleansweep to her chest. She scoffed. “Besides, like you care about anything besides quidditch.”

“You fly well,” Poe said with a shrug. “Maybe that’s how this whole friendship started. But, also, you’re a good person. And there’s a passion to you that comes out on the pitch that I admire. But right now? For whatever reason, it’s gone. So, yeah. Spill. Quickly, though, before Zorii comes over here and makes us run suicide drills.”

“I’m just tired,” Rey answered, her shoulders hunched forward.

“If that’s the case, then you’ve been tired for the last five practices!” Poe argued. “Listen, I don’t even care about the game or the cup or whatever.” He halted, as if realizing the obvious lie coming from his lips. “Well, I do. Obviously, I do. But right now? I just care about you. Because, believe it or not, I’m just as much your friend as Finn and Rose are.”

Rey deflated, seeing the genuine hurt on Poe’s face. “I know you’re my friend, Poe.”

“Well, okay!” he said, throwing his hands upwards. “So, why can’t you tell me what’s going on, then?”

“I don’t-” Rey paused, breathing out a sigh. “I don’t like opening up to people. It’s not something I really did when growing up.”

Poe hummed to himself, as if lost in thought for a second. He bit back a groan, clearly still a bit frustrated. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he finally admitted. A big step for him, Rey had to admit. Poe’s stubbornness at getting what he wanted was legendary, even when it came to the typical Gryffindor. “Still, you know I’m here to help. I was being honest when I said I consider us more than just teammates. Also, not to brag and all, but I’m a surprisingly great listener. I know when to shut up and everything.”

“I’m sure you do,” Rey responded, almost managing to laugh. The corners of Poe’s eyes crinkled as he shoved his elbow into her own. 

“You’ll be okay?” he asked

“I’ll be okay,” Rey confirmed.

“And your broom?” Poe asked, eyeing the cracked handle as if fearful that this would set her off on another angry tirade. She desperately fought the guilt that gnawed inside her and forced her voice to remain even.

“It’ll fly,” Rey answered. “Spell-o-tape does wonders, you know? Maybe I can ask Finn if he knows any good mending charms. Might not be good as new, but he’s got a knack for that sort of stuff.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Poe said with a reassuring pat on the back. “You’ll fly like a phoenix, Rey. You always do.”

Rey tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. She had a gut-wrenching feeling that she’d sooner end up bursting into flames than soaring to victory.

* * *

When the Slytherin team certifiably crushed Hufflepuff in their next match, solidifying their place in the finals, Ben couldn’t help himself from inexplicably gazing out towards the sea of red and gold in the stands, wondering if  _ she _ was watching. She wasn’t of course.

Nor would she glance his way during meals in the great hall. Several times, he saw that friend of hers, Finn, glaring at him from his faithful perch at Niima’s side, but he was unsure if it was directed specifically at him, or if it was just the constant general gaze of disapproval that most Gryffindor gits sent in the direction of the Slytherin table. He resisted the urge to levitate a bowl of potatoes over the boy’s head.

Still, despite her friend’s glares, she never once made eye-contact. Once, he purposely knocked into her while he was climbing the tower towards transfiguration, sending her books skittering down the stairs, but she very purposely shoved back without meeting his gaze before hastily snagging her materials and bounding down the steps without a single word.

It was, to put it simply, infuriating.

After all, shouldn’t  _ he  _ be the one ignoring  _ her _ ? Didn’t she reject him, not the other way around? Why on earth should she be the one to act so bloody offended when he was the one who was made to feel like such a fool. Each time she passed in the halls, pointedly ignoring him while laughing at whatever ‘oh-so-funny’ comment made by her Gryffindor chums, he resisted the urge to grasp her by the back of the collar and drag her behind the nearest tapestry, forcing her to finally acknowledge his fucking existence.

“Can you please at least talk to Rey?”

Ben Solo looked up from his essay on the protective qualities of wiggentree bark in order to take in the diminutive fourth year that stood before his table in the library. Her arms were crossed, face scowling with obvious disdain. Dark hair and Gryffindor colors. Rose, he recalled faintly. The girl Rey was always with.

“Rey, who?” he replied icily, returning to his essay. His quill dug into the parchment, nearly tearing a gash through his second paragraph, but Rose only stood over him with that annoying Gryffindor stare that they all seemed to possess. He sighed, tossing his quill to the table and leaning back in his chair when he realized the tiny girl would not leave. “Usually Gryffindors aren’t so fond of receiving attention from big bad Slytherins. Should I pull her pigtails, next time? Insult her grandmother a bit?”

“You need to talk to her. Not just shove into her in the halls like some sort of deranged grindylow. Elbows to the face aren’t really a conversation, Solo.”

“Why should I care, anyway?” Ben continued, scratching out his entire second sentence after he’d written the same exact statement twice in a row. If this Tico girl caused him to fail charms, Rey wouldn’t be the only one receiving a few elbows to the face.

“She broke her broom during last practice and is still planning to fly it,” Rose said. “Badly broken. The thing barely hovers and is nose diving all over the place. And I know that you couldn’t care less about whether or not Gryffindor wins against Ravenclaw, but you care about Rey. Deny it all you want, but I see the way you look at her,” she continued, holding her hand up to halt the protest that began to form on Ben’s lips. “She’s going to get hurt out there. Can you at least talk some sense into her?”

“And why would she listen to me?”   
  
“I dunno, maybe because she’s been walking around like an angry zombie ever since you decided to act like an outright prat towards her after the Hufflepuff match?”

Ben halted.

“You know about that night?”

“I know about that night,” she confirmed, puffing her cheeks outward in the perfect imitation of an angry chipmunk.

“She told you?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Rose said quickly, brushing away the topic. Interesting. “The point is that the girl’s been on a surefire path to self-destruction ever since Gryffindor’s match against Hufflepuff, and all of this rage seems to stem from whatever  _ you _ did. So if you wouldn’t mind fixing your mistake? That’d be great, thanks.”

“Of course I’m the one who-”

“She at least deserves some sort of apology, okay?” Rose continued, cutting off his protests. “A real one, not some insult hidden inside of a half-assed statement. Suck it up like a big boy and make things right, Solo. It’s the least you can do.”

“She doesn’t talk to me anymore,” Ben muttered, mostly to himself. 

“Make her,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ben repeated. He breathed in deeply, squaring his shoulders as he took in Rose’s appearance. She was poised with a scowl on her lips and a wand gripped at her side as if ready to attack, a ferocious Manticore of a woman in a petite, 5 foot 2 inch body. Disconnectedly, Ben wondered if he’d ever have someone fight for him with the same sense of vigor that this Tico girl did for Rey and felt a sudden surge of jealousy in his gut. Sure, Hux was more than willing to send a sneer and a stinging jinx in the direction of any mouthy Gryffindor who insulted the Slytherin quidditch team or their mothers, but all of that paled in comparison to Rose Tico. Shifting his gaze downwards, a sudden sense of shame overcoming him. Rey was really that messed up? After turning him down and making him feel like a fool? And somehow he, of all people, was at fault?

“She hates me,” he stated, glaring down at his half-assed essay. There was a shuffle, and Ben darted his eyes upwards. Rose reached out for him tentatively before hesitantly shifting her arm backwards and wringing her hands in front of her.

“She doesn’t,” Rose assured him. “Trust me, she doesn’t.”

Ben swallowed hard and nodded. In comparison to Rose, Ben knew certifiably nothing about Rey. He only hoped Rose was right.

* * *

“I do wonder how you plan to fly without a broom. Have all Gryffindors unlocked the secret of levitation, or are you just special?”

Rey halted midstep as she made her way towards the quidditch pitch a whole hour before her last quidditch practice before tomorrow’s game against Ravenclaw. She needed to give her broom one more test flight before practice in order to handle the whole “random plummeting to her death” problem that had been popping up ever since the crash. Her broom, a fragile structure held together with little more than spell-o-tape and a prayer, somehow still flew, though handling it was more difficult than trying to wrangle a mob of irritated doxies. Finn had run a few mending spells, keeping the wood all in one piece, but it still was tender to the touch. Desperately, he urged her to borrow a school broom, but unless they adjusted the goalposts so that they were only five feet off the ground, there was no way she’d be able to score on those child-locked twigs. All she needed to do was get through one more practice and one more game. Her Cleansweep could handle just a few more flights. Ben Solo, of course, couldn’t let that happen so easily.

“Leave me alone,” she grumbled as Ben Solo’s dark figure appeared before her like a dementor materializing out of the fog. She rolled her eyes. Black sweater and black jeans. Of course.

“Still didn’t answer the question,” Ben said, placing his hulking body directly in her path and blocking her way. “I’ve said it many times, and I’ll say it again, Niima. You need a new broom.”   
  
“Wow!” she said, forcing her eyes wide like a small child being told of the existence of nargles. “You mean my decades old Cleansweep isn’t up to par with your latest model of Silencer? Who would have thought!”

“Stop trying to be cute, Niima, it’s utterly unbecoming of you,” he muttered. Grumbling, he dug deep into his pockets, and Rey half expected him to pull out his wand and curse her. Some sort of hex that would cover her in Slytherin green boils that would hiss and pop until she made her way to the hospital wing (Hux had done that one to Finn before, cackling the entire time). Instead, he pulled out a manila envelope, packed fat and nearly bursting at the seams. He held it out to her with a scowl, and she peered at it with suspicion.

“Is it cursed?” she asked, reaching outwards but refusing to touch it.

“ _ No _ , it’s not cursed. Do you really think that every single thing given to you by a Slytherin is cursed?” he answered, clearly annoyed.

“Hexed, then. Really, that’s the same thing, Solo. You should pay more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Merlin, Niima! It’s not cursed, or hexed, or jinxed! Would you please summon up some of that damn Gryffindor courage and take the bloody envelope!”

Rey muttered under her breath before hesitantly accepting the parcel and peering inside. Her eyes bulged as she caught sight of a thick pile of galleons glinting inside and jangling heavily against one another. Suddenly, the packet felt ten times heavier in her arms, and she had the urge to resist chucking it at Ben Solo’s brooding face.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, truly flabbergasted.

“Look, I’m an asshole. I said it, happy?” Ben grumbled. “Just take the money and buy a new broom before Cara Dune sends a bludger at you and blasts it to toothpicks. Think of it as compensation for that night on the pitch. I won’t tell anyone about it if you won’t.”

Rey was still frozen, brain slowly processing his words and the damnable fortune currently clutched in her hands. She suddenly was unsure if he was apologizing or bribing her. Knowing most Slytherins, it had to be the latter.

“This is supposed to make it better?” Rey asked, looking down at the packed envelope in her hand with disbelief. “You buying me off? Sorry, Solo, but it turns out you can’t just throw money at a girl to get her to do what you want. I’m sure the establishments you and your little Slytherin friends visit in Hogsmeade might have you thinking that’s how the world works, but it usually isn’t successful unless the girls are named something like ‘Candi’ or ‘Honey’ and you’re tossing galleons at them as they expose their naughty bits.”

“You need a new broom,” Ben argued, ignoring the jibe. “You don’t stand a chance against Ravenclaw when yours is a shoddy mess like that. Please. It’s the least I can do after everything.”   
  
“Everything,” she repeated, eyebrows raised to her hairline. “And by ‘everything’, why, whatever is it that you mean?” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, a mockery of the pure-blood prisses that populated Ben’s house with their simpering smiles and hidden fangs. 

“You know what,” he responded with a glare. “Just take it before I change my mind. You’re right. The money would be much better spent on a ‘Candi’ or a ‘Honey’ at Madam Sphinx’s Glitter Lounge.”

“I’ll be sure to owl them ahead of time so they can start preparing for their disappointment,” Rey scoffed, shoving the money back into Ben’s hand. He reached outwards before she could pull away from him, hand wrapping around her forearm.

“You are aware,” he said, pulling her closer, “that you do not actually fuck the strippers at a strip club.”

Rey reddened, peeling Ben’s fingers from her arm one at a time before scurrying away none too elegantly. “Well, then! Good news for Candi and Honey! No need to fake interest beyond a couple shimmies this way and that!”

“Would you please just stop mucking around and take the money, Niima?” This time, he threw the package directly at her head, and Rey’s chaser reflexes betrayed her, instinctively catching it before it could make an impact. Ben snarled in frustration as she charged at him, nearly tackling him to the ground in an effort to shove it back into his pockets. She wrestled with him a bit, the packet of galleons smacking painfully into Ben’s side as she continuously tried to pry his fingers open. “No one’s going to think you’re some slag because you’re getting help to buy an actually decent broomstick!”

Rey halted, her arms tangled with his and his body uncomfortably close.

“Why do you even know about my broom anyway?” Rey said as she peered suspiciously up at him. His dark eyes were a honey brown in the sunlight and he actually bit his lip, the utter prat. The damn idiot had the nerve to look attractive while acting like a complete arsehole.

“Well, Rose said that-”

“Fantastic. It’s great to know that my friends are gossiping to you about me,” Rey said, shoving the package back into Ben’s chest with more force than necessary. “You know, I’d really not become indebted to the great Ben Solo. After all, I know what he would expect in return. What I should do for him to make it all  _ worth it _ .”

Ben froze, the words from that night being thrown back in his face like a bludger carrying a particularly nasty grudge. For a second, she hoped Ben would argue back that he hadn’t meant it. That it was all a stupid joke that went too far. Instead, he just sighed and shook his head like she was some sort of petulant child who understood nothing. Maybe she was. Her cheeks flamed, feeling foolish as he shifted away from the topic entirely.

“Whatever,” Ben said. “Just. Fly well, okay? And remember to lean to the right when Bo-Katan Kryze is guarding the post.”

“I don’t need help from you,” Rey snapped. “What are you even trying to do? I don’t  _ get _ it, Ben! Suddenly you act like you care about me? Just because Rose guilt-tripped you? Well, I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your money. I’m not a charity case!”

“You’re right,” he said with his facial expression blank and unreadable. Accepting defeat, he stepped aside from the path and shoved the envelope back into his pocket. “You’re not. Get that broom looked at before the match or Ravenclaw’ll wipe the floor with you. I’d rather not have to go round two with Din Djarin on the pitch.”

“It’ll fly,” she assured him, relieved to see the money disappear from sight. She’d said the same thing to Poe during last week’s practice. This time, however, she felt like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone. 

“Rey...” he started, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Please, just leave.”

Ben stared at her, emotion still unreadable on his face, then nodded, clearly giving up.

“I’ll be in the stands,” he said. “I know it doesn’t matter to you, but I hope you don’t die. You owe me a rematch in the finals.”   
  
“I owe you nothing,” Rey said. “And you owe me nothing. Goodbye, Ben.”

She shoved past him, walking briskly down the path. Despite everything, the tiniest part of her wished that Ben would call after her, make her turn around and talk some sense into her. Apologize. Make up with her. Help her remember why she even liked playing quidditch again in the first place and then take out to the pitch for one final practice before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game. Make her feel like less of a fuck-up.

He didn’t. She couldn’t blame him. 

* * *

Twenty-two and a half hours later, Rey’s broom broke mid-flight while trying to intercept a pass between Koska Reeves and Axe Woves.

There was no blood or broken bones. In fact, Rey suffered no less than a dislocated shoulder that was reset with a sharp and uncomfortable pop from Madam Kalonia. The damage was done, however. With Rey out of commission, the Gryffindor team was no match for the Ravenclaw quidditch team. Within ten minutes, the snitch was caught and Gryffindor had officially lost their shot in the finals.


	8. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to finishing this chapter! Not too much Ben/Rey interaction (I really wanted to take some time to let Rey and Finn's friendship flesh out a little more), but hopefully it's still entertaining.
> 
> Also, this story is definitely named after Rose. Rose and her stupid, dirty quidditch jokes.

Ben was yelling something indistinguishable to Hux as the seeker lazily lapped around the pitch, braying like a donkey as Gwen Phasma sent a particularly nasty bludger straight at Axe Woves head and sent him spinning in mid-air. From the stands, crowded in a small huddle near the top of the Gryffindor student section, Rey bit her lip as the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team (plus Rose and Finn) groaned. Slytherin had sent another quaffle past Bo-Katan Kryze’s outstretched arms and cleanly through the middle hoop. Hux continued to swerve lazily about the field, and Rey could tell by his pointed expression and jeering smile that he was spouting insults left-and-right. Seeming to harness his annoyance from Hux’s quips, Din Djarin then made three goals in a row right before the redhead’s sneering face. The Gryffindor team cheered as Ravenclaw finally took the lead after a tough neck-and-neck battle for the last hour and fifteen minutes, laughing as they caught sight of Hux’s slack-jawed expression on the pitch.

“Did Hux forget that he actually needs to catch the snitch in order to win this thing?” Finn muttered, rolling his eyes as Hux once again continued to insult the Ravenclaw team.

“Suffering from brain damage is my bet,” Jessica responded with a snigger. “All that grease in his hair has gotta do something to that prefrontal cortex, you know?”

“Zorii always said his brain must be the size of a walnut,” Poe agreed as Ben and Phasma once again shouted an irritated warning in Hux’s direction, urging him to get his ass in gear. “Where’s Zorii, anyway?”

“Still in Gryffindor Tower. Couldn’t bear to watch,” Paige admitted with a grimace. “I’ll check up on her later. She just needs a little time to herself.”

Rey couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her captain. Zorii could be a pain during practice, but she lived and breathed quidditch. With her and Paige graduating this year, Rey couldn’t imagine the game without them. Paige, especially, had been something of a role model for Rey, and she wished she could take flight with the same sense of cool and collected confidence that she somehow managed. Unshakeable, Zorii had often described her, in awe with how completely opposite Paige’s flying was from Zorii’s own aggressive nature. She’d miss them dearly, even Zorii’s endless bludger drills and infuriatingly complex plays.

Suddenly, Rey’s attention was drawn elsewhere. There was a glint fifteen meters down the pitch from the quidditch hoops. Rey’s eyes widened, recognizing the snitch as it flickered in a shuddering figure eight pattern. Almost at the same moment, Ben Solo must have noticed it as well, and Rey gasped as he vacated the ongoing squabble for the quaffle between him and Bodhi Rook, then barrelled down the pitch. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to pluck it from the air with the grace of a seeker, but then he suddenly turned with the precision of a ballet dancer before swiping the tail end of his broom against the snitch like a cricket ball hitting a bat.

The snitch hurtled upwards, propelled directly into Armitage Hux’s smug face. With a ‘THUNK!’ that seemed to echo throughout the entire pitch, the golden snitch hit it’s target directly between Hux’s beady eyes, leaving a golf-ball sized welt as red as his hair. He scrambled for a bit with a shriek, swatting at the snitch like it was an irritated bee before finally recognizing it and desperately clasping a hand around it. Despite what team was being cheered for, the entire stadium was swept up into the display, leaping to their feet to shout, Gryffindors included. Slytherin had won the cup.

“What a way to win, huh?” Poe said, sliding his arms around Rey and Finn and squeezing them tight. “As much as I wish it was Ravenclaw, you can’t argue that it wasn’t exciting.”

“You owe Enfys Nest five galleons, Poe.”

Poe grimaced, his demeanor suddenly sullen. “Nevermind. Slytherin’s still trash.” 

“Is that move even allowed?” Rose asked. The crowd of quidditch players around her fell to silence, considering the question.

“I think so?”

“I mean, Solo didn’t catch it, right?” Jessica pondered out loud. “I think as long as chasers aren’t chucking the snitch clear across the pitch, anything goes.”

“This game is so stupid,” Rose muttered miserably as the team devolved into a series of arguments over what can and can’t be done with a snitch on the pitch. They got to Jessica Pava describing a rather lewd sex act involving two quaffles and a seeker before Paige interrupted firmly, disgusted that such filth would be uttered in front of her baby sister. Rey rolled her eyes. Paige had obviously hadn’t heard Rose’s double-entendre about beaters in the sack that she’d made earlier that day during breakfast.

“Can’t wait to try a move like that during practice next season,” Poe said with a grin.

“Next year’s seeker better not be useless enough for you to  _ have  _ to use a move like that,” Jessica muttered. “We can find someone better than Hux to replace Zorii.”

“I can probably train a flobberworm that could fly better than Hux. Better looking, too,” Snap interjected, sending the team into laughter as they reached the bottom of the stands.

“Well, well! What a motley gang of losers we have here.”

A groan chorused throughout the group as the victorious Slytherins filed out of the pitch behind them, fully showered with the quidditch cup glinting in their hands. Of course, they’d be more interested in antagonizing the Gryffindors rather than just enjoying their damn victory, Rey thought with a scowl.

“Getting a preview of next year?” Phasma said, carefully polishing the front of the silver quidditch cup in her hands. Her sneer reflected back in it’s mirrored, metal surface. “Sorry to say it’s unlikely. Doubt you’ll even make it to the cup, just like this year. Where’s your girlfriend, Tico? Crying in her room like the failure she is?”

For the first time in her life, Rey saw Paige’s amiable disposition disappear as she leapt forward with actual anger. Rose yelped, holding back Paige’s clenched fist and pulling her sister behind her.

“There will be even less talent left once you and Bliss leave, huh?” Hux goaded, the bright red welt on his forehead shining in the afternoon sun. “I mean, that’s assuming no one else is getting tossed off the team. After all, I doubt Niima here will be able to stay on her nonexistent broom long enough to even make it through an entire game.”

“At least she didn’t have to buy her way onto the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. That hadn’t been Poe’s voice, or Finn’s, or even Jessica Pava’s. Instead, Rey was stunned to realize that the deep, lazy drawl had come out of none other than Ben Solo’s Slytherin mouth.

“Excuse me, Solo?” Hux asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Just saying, Snoke seemed particularly insistent on getting you on the team after that generous donation to the potion’s department from your father,” Ben muttered with an irritated glare. “Would have been worth it if you acted like an actual seeker for once. That match lasted over an hour and half and we were winning for the first two thirds of it. All we needed was the damn snitch. What the hell were you even doing out there? Pirouettes?”

“Wasn’t aware you were captain, Solo,” Hux said while stalking up to Ben and pointing a finger to his chest, attempting to intimidate him despite his smaller stature. “You really think I’m a worse quidditch player than this useless, little mudblood?”

Without a word, Ben wrapped his giant hand around Hux’s accusing fingers and squeezed them with a sickening ‘Pop!’ Gasping in pain, Hux clutched his hand to his chest before hurtling his body forward in an attempt to force Ben to the ground with his only good arm.

“Enough!” Phasma thundered, bodily separating the two Slytherins from each other before any further broken bones. “Cool off, Solo! Hux is right. You aren't the captain. Criticizing Hux’s mediocre performance is my job, not your’s.”

Hux whimpered, pulling his injured fingers to his chest once again. The Gryffindor team gawked, hiding the grins on their faces as Mitaka dutifully offered to take Hux to the hospital wing, insisting that his hand looked more dislocated than broken. Hux kicked at the boy in a sudden tantrum despite his attempted help as they retreated to the castle.

“We’ll settle this on the pitch next year,” Phasma finally said as she glared down at the rival team. “Except for you, of course, Tico. However will your team survive without you and your righteous little captain?”

Paige muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Piss off” under her breath as the Slytherins finally slunk away to their victory party, Ben Solo stealing a momentary glance in Rey’s direction that she almost didn’t catch. Rose draped a protective arm over Paige’s shoulder as the Gryffindors were finally left alone.

“Just once,” Paige said quietly. “Just once I wanted to beat that damn ogre of a woman in the finals.”

“She’s miserable,” Poe agreed. “We’ll get her next year, Paige. For you and Zorii, yeah?”

“She’s right, though. You guys have two open spots next year, and we have no reserves since we bumped Rey up to first string. Do we even know anyone who flies?” Paige said while shaking her head. “We can’t handle having two second years on the team all at once when so many of you guys are fifth year or younger.”

“We’ll find someone,” Snap insisted. “And Jessica and I will send a couple bludgers straight to Phasma’s face next year, just for you.”

“Hell yeah, I will!” Jessica said with a grin, all too excited at the prospect. The team began their journey up to the castle, goodnaturedly describing how they’d make their way to victory next year, sharing workout routines and tips for the summer. Rey almost felt a weight fall off her shoulders as she couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of flying once again next season.

“Rey, can you hold on for a moment?” Finn said, reaching out to grab Rey’s arm before she could leave with the parade of Gryffindors.

“What’s up, Finn?” Rey said as she waved the rest of the team along, Rose suspiciously craning her neck behind her, no doubt imagining the hot gossip she would be missing out on.

“Well, I just,” Finn scratched at his cheek, struggling to find words. “I was thinking. Do you think I’m a good flyer?”

“I haven’t seen you fly much since our first year, but you were considerably better than me back then, yeah,” Rey said, fondly recalling how Finn coached her during those early days, teaching her how to balance on a broom without losing control and how to come to a stop without her entire body pitching forward. His detailed advice, as well as his superb healing charms, had saved her from more than a few disastrous visits to the hospital wing. Since then, though, Finn had done little flying beyond occasionally borrowing Poe’s broom in order to go for a leisurely flight over the Great Lake with Rey when the weather was agreeable. 

“True,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “So, okay. Don’t laugh, but I think I want to try-out for chaser next year. It’s a long shot, though. I know I’m not as quick as you or as strategic as Poe, but I think I might be able to make it if I can get some practice in over the summer.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “Finn, why would I laugh at that? Of course you’d make it! And, you think Poe’s strategic?” Rey laughed. “Poe switches up strategies on the pitch every five seconds. He just does it so confidently that most people don’t realize that he’s making it up as he goes along. Drives the rest of the team bonkers, to be honest. You, on the other hand, can beat any chess player within seven moves!”

“Chess and quidditch aren’t really the same thing,” Finn muttered, slightly embarrassed by the praise.

“Yes, but the fact of the matter is that you’ve got the mind for it. You’ve gotta be flexible in quidditch, yes, but the best players are always thinking ten steps ahead,” Rey said. Suddenly, she flushed, realizing that Ben Solo’s advice was flowing from her mouth. Since when had his words been so ingrained in her brain?

“You really think I can make it?”

“If you don’t, whoever our next captain is would be making a huge mistake,” Rey said, wrapping Finn in a hug. “I couldn’t imagine flying with a better chaser. Plus, the fact that you can practically read my mind will be a definite plus. We’ll be the ones keeping Poe on his toes for once.”

“Thanks, Peanut,” Finn said, ruffling her hair with a relieved grin. “It’s settled, then. I’m buying a broom and spending every day practicing this summer.”

“Don’t tell Poe, though,” Rey advised. “Last year, he found out that Beaumont Kin was thinking of trying out, and I heard he sent a howler every morning to get Kin’s arse out of bed and start practicing. Poor kid got so tired of it, he didn’t even make it to try-outs.”

Finn grimaced. “Fair, I won’t tell him.”

“And Rose is going to try to talk you out of it. She spent the first two weeks of September reciting a comprehensive fifteen page long treatise about why I should spend more time with her rather than on a smelly, old broom. You know how she is. She’ll be heartbroken that she’ll have to suffer through quidditch games alone in the stands.”

“She can be a bit dramatic, can’t she?” Finn said with a laugh. “Is there anyone I  _ can _ tell, my dear quidditch expert?”

“Jessica Pava will weep with joy when she finds out,” Rey admitted. “She always thought you’d be good on a broom. She’ll start fitting you for a quidditch jersey before we leave on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Here’s hoping she’s captain, then,” Finn said with a sigh. “I’d stand a chance of getting on the team then, yeah?”

“Doesn’t matter who’s captain,” Rey insisted with a clap on his shoulder. “You’re going to be great!”

Finn grinned at her, then closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed in deeply. Rey could practically see his imagination taking flight as he undoubtedly pictured himself on a broom, tossing a quaffle between Rey and Poe with expertise, the crowds cheering their names. Rey felt her own heart soaring, as well, imagining the same. Suddenly, the daydream halted as she remembered once again that she was currently in no possession of a broom that could take her to the sky. What would happen if she couldn’t get a new one? Would they go with a completely new chaser?

“You okay, Peanut?” Finn asked, peering at her. Flustered, Rey realized that her smile must have been looking a little more fake than before.

“I’m good. Just going to get a little fresh air. Only a few days left of us getting to enjoy this place, right? I think I’ll head down to the Great Lake for a bit before going in.”

“Don’t get eaten by the giant squid,” Finn said as he began to head towards the castle.

“Yes, Dad!” Rey shouted back as she made her way in the opposite direction, though it sounded forced even to her own ears. Images of Finn and Poe on the pitch tossing the quaffle without her would not leave her mind. The thoughts screamed like banshees as she imagined them speeding down the pitch with some faceless player as she looked on from the sidelines, utterly left behind. No matter how hard she tried, she could not banish the thought.

* * *

“Asleep, Niima?”

Rey startled awake. She’d been lying underneath an English oak at the edge of the Great Lake, so exhausted by her mental battle that she’d finally drifted off to sleep. Above her, Ben’s dark hair came into focus, and Rey scrambled to her feet, eager to put some distance between them.

“Not anymore,” she grumbled, pressing her hands to her eyes and trying to wipe away her grogginess. “What are you doing here? I can’t have been sleeping so long that the Slytherin celebration has finally ended.”

“It started half an hour ago,” Ben said with a shrug, gazing out across the Great Lake. “Hux is waving his damn arm around like I broke it even though Kalonia fixed it in five minutes. He insists that I should be kicked off the team, which of course is never going to happen. Needed to go for a walk before I ended up breaking another bone of his.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Rey said, but she couldn’t help the small smile forming on her lips.   
  
“Hux is insufferable. I’ve been wanting to tear him down all week,” Ben responded. 

“By all means, tear away,” Rey insisted as they stared out over the lake, feeling at ease as she leaned against the trunk behind her. The sun was beginning to dip below the trees, painting the lake in a golden hue though it was not quite twilight. Wistfully, Rey lamented the fact that in less than a week she’d have to say goodbye to Hogwarts and head back to Unkar Plutt and his molding townhouse, away from any ounce of magic for a full three months.

“So…” Ben said as he eyed her carefully, seeming to weigh the words about to come out of his mouth. “What is the plan in terms of quidditch next year? No offense, but I can’t imagine they’ll let you climb your way up the hoop in order to score.”

“You doubt my superb climbing skills, Solo?” Rey joked, attempting to brush aside the thoughts she’d been battling earlier. She grinned to herself for a moment, recalling the derelict buildings she used to scale as a child. “You’d be surprised by what I can shimmy my way up on top of.”

Ben’s breath hitched at that, and Rey raised an eyebrow at him, clearly puzzled. Of course, the first time that Rey spoke to Ben in over a month he’d end up acting like a complete weirdo.

“What, you want to see?” Rey said as she jerked a finger back towards the quidditch hoops. Ben muttered something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like “You’re killing me, Niima,” but Rey ignored him with a roll of her eyes.

“Fine, no demonstration.” Pushing herself up from against the tree, Rey gave a lazy wave over her shoulder as she started her way towards the castle. She breathed out a sigh of relief as she turned away. Nice. A conversation with Ben Solo that  _ didn’t _ regress back to them yelling at each other like cavemen.

“You know Professor Kanata?”

Rey halted. Of course, Ben Solo wasn’t done. She crossed her arms and turned to stare at him, her suspicion growing. “I’m a fourth year. I, like most Hogwarts students, have heard of divination. Why? What have you seen about me in your teacups? Some sort of tall, dark lover coming into my life soon, or just the usual predictions of death and destruction?”

Rey could have sworn his face flushed red for just a second. “Something wrong, Solo?”

“No!” he shouted, his voice so loud that it startled both him and her. He bit his lip and Rey furrowed his brow. Was he nervous? “It’s just that during the summer months Kanata runs a tea shop out of Bristol. A small pop-up shop, but pretty busy, nonetheless.”

“Fascinating news,” Rey said. “I’ll inform the Daily Prophet.”

“Wizards tend to use the word ‘pop-up shop’ pretty literally,” Ben continued on, pointedly ignoring Rey’s comment. “I think it’s usually some sort of vacant lot between a string of condemned office buildings for nine out of twelve months, but during the summer it’s pretty well-renowned in the wizarding community. Of course, Kanata’s pretty stingy about who she invites. Special portkey and everything.”

“As much as I love the lesson, Solo, what exactly is it that you’re getting at? Just rubbing it in my face that I’m not worthy of Kanata’s tea ceremonies? I’m honestly not the biggest tea-drinker, so forgive me if I fail to burst into tears.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m just saying that I know for a fact that she’s going to be short an employee this summer and will be in desperate need of an extra set of hands.” He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially, and it was so unlike his usual brooding demeanor that Rey had the sudden urge to laugh. “And it just so happens that Maz Kanata prefers to hire a few students to help out around the shop. Pays a little more than most shops since she knows underage wizards and witches can’t do magic in the summer. Dependable hours.”

“I live nowhere near Bristol,” Rey said, unimpressed. “I know you aren’t the expert on muggle households—Merlin knows that Professor Threepio spends more time teaching about the difference between a microwave and a washing machine than anything actually useful—but not everyone has a fireplace set up to just floo wherever they want.” Rey shrugged a sigh. “Listen, thanks for the advice, but it’s possible I might just have to sit next year out until I can afford a replacement. Have fun losing to Gryffindor without me.”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Ben responded, his irritation starting to grow.

“And now the insults return,” Rey said with an exasperated sigh. Ben glowered, then shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at Rey’s shoes. If Rey didn’t know any better, she’d assume he was embarrassed, but she nearly laughed at the thought. As history had proven, Ben had no qualms about insulting Rey Niima and her inadequacies.

“She’d give you a portkey, okay?” Ben finally said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “It’s a good opportunity. Don’t ignore it just because you feel like wallowing in self-pity.”

“I don’t wallow,” Rey insisted, crossing her arms defensively. 

“Right,” he scoffed. “Talk to her about it. Can’t hurt, can it?”

“Fine,” she agreed. Then, quietly, “Thank you.”

Ben smiled, one of those real smiles that Rey only rarely saw, and never in front of any of his Slytherin friends. The goofy one that stretched from ear to ear. The one that sometimes made her heart flip just a little bit.

“Rematch next year?” Ben asked, raising an eyebrow.

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Rey said with a grin. “And Ben? Enjoy holding that quidditch cup while you can. I have a feeling it will be the last time you do so for a long, long while.”

* * *

Ben was right. Professor Kanata (or Maz, as she insisted on being called in the summer months) was desperate for young blood to work her teashop, and Rey was surprised by how much she enjoyed the work that summer. Kanata was eccentric, a tiny, mocha colored woman with small beady eyes that magnified ten times bigger when she peered at you beneath her cat-eye glasses, but she was also an endless source of wisdom that seemed to always know exactly what you needed before you had the chance to even realize it yourself. Rey didn’t even have to mention the teashop job when she’d entered the North Tower before Kanata was shoving a portkey made from an old, musty sock and promptly telling her the time and days she expected to see her that summer. Rey couldn’t help but grin as she clutched the sock to her chest like a fool, realizing that her quidditch dreams had not yet been dashed.

“What’s the status on the Darjeeling tea? Pot still full, or do we need a new one?” Bodhi Rook asked while wiping out a honey dispenser and filling it with a fresh batch. Bodhi, while admittedly a rival chaser on the Hufflepuff team, was proving to be a great coworker with a sharp sense of humor; the fact that they’d spent most of last year trying to wrestle a quaffle from one another never once seemed to cause a rift during a work shift besides a couple of toothless jibes. Rey suddenly thought of Ben Solo and his narrowed eyes, then inwardly mourned the fact that not all of her other interhouse relationships could run so smoothly.

“Nearly empty,” Rey admitted as began to clear out the spent tea leaves to make room for a fresh batch. “Impressive, Rook. Saved us just in time from a Darjeeling disaster. Maz would be proud.”

“Maz thinks I have ‘the sight,’” Bodhi said with an awkward shrug. “Honestly, I didn’t believe her at first. A bunch of rubbish, if you ask me. But, now?” He shook his head with an uncertain smile. “Well, I suppose some talents can’t be explained.”

“Bullocks!” Rey laughed tossing a wadded up paper napkin at Bodhi’s head.

“I’m serious! Just last week, that one bloke with the Welsh accent—you know, the one who’s always carrying that live iguana on his shoulders? Well, around two o’clock, I just started making a chai tea latte with extra cinnamon without even thinking. Swear on Merlin’s grave, he comes in and orders the exact drink that I had just made! How do you explain that?”

“The guy with the purple cloak who comes in every Tuesday afternoon?” Rey asked, utterly perplexed. “Rook, he orders the same thing every single time he comes in.”

“Don’t doubt my gifts, Niima.”   
  
“Then, oh great one,” Rey said with a roll of her eyes. “Make a prediction.”   
  
“That’s not how the sight works, you know.”   
  
“Tell you what, if you make a prediction and get it right, I’ll clean the loo after the lunch rush all week.”

“Fine! Fine! I foresee,” Bodhi began, bringing his hands to his forehead like some sort of muggle version of a shaman. He screwed his face up in pain, letting out a theatrical gasp. “Yes! It’s coming to me!” He leaned forward, waving his hands in front of her face and wiggling his fingers in faux mysticism. Rey couldn’t help but snort. “I see you getting your arse kicked on the quidditch pitch next school year!”

Rey elbowed him in the stomach, cackling. “You are so full of crap!” she shouted. A couple of the patrons in the teahouse glared at her, utterly appalled by her uncouth interruption of their peaceful teatime.

“You know, I made that same joke last year to Ben Solo,” Bodhi said with a shrug. “Found it not quite as funny as you; nearly knocked my teeth in. Gotta say, you are far more pleasant of a coworker to spend the summers with.”

Rey’s grin faltered.

“Ben worked here last year?”

“Well, yeah,” Bodhi said, wiping down a splatter of honey that had missed the container. “I figured you knew since he recommended you and all. Ben’s been working here every summer even longer than I have. I heard that Professor Kanata is a family friend of his mother and father from way back, or something.”

Lost in thought, Rey tried to imagine Ben’s mother. All she could picture was some sort of bride-of-Frankenstein with a permanent scowl on her lips. “I always kind of assumed that Solo’d emerged from some lagoon somewhere, fully formed.”

“Don’t know much about his old man, but his mum’s actually pretty nice,” Bodhi continued. “She’s come in here a few times. She’s a very busy lady, always meeting with some big-wigs from the ministry about something or other, but she actually acknowledges you when you refill her teacup.”

“Ben Solo’s mother is not a brooding vampire woman, huh?” Rey responded, clearly amused. “Who would have thought!”

“They are actually quite opposite of one another, though I admit that Ben gets his stubbornness from his mother.”

Rey and Bodhi jumped as Maz Kanata’s voice boomed from behind them, the small woman seemingly appearing out of nowhere as she often did. Not even a tell-tale ‘POP!’ of apparition.

“Oh, please,” Maz said with a lazy wave of her hand. “Do continue your conversation. I’m not here to interrupt,” she insisted as she pulled a stool between the two teenagers and motioned for them to make room, staring at them expectantly behind her giant eyeglasses. Standing on its platform, she was nearly their height.   
  
“Um,” Rey began. “Ben’s… nice.”

“Ben Solo has been a pain in his parent’s rear ends since the day he was sorted into Slytherin,” Maz insisted. “And I’m allowed to say that considering I’ve known the boy since he was five.”

“You knew him when he was younger?” Rey asked. She recalled faintly how Poe, too, had described Ben as being far less irritable before his time at Hogwarts. “How exactly was it that he was so different back then? What happened to him?”

“Some skeletons are better left in the closet,” Maz insisted with a mysterious smile. “But if you’re really so interested in our young Mr. Solo…” With a swiftness that defied her age, Maz jumped from the stool and began sorting through the cabinets behind the cash register, unloading it’s contents onto the floor that Bodhi had cleaned only a half hour earlier. After chucking three tea-cups shaped like swans, a file folder suspiciously marked with the text “DO NOT EAT'', and what must have been a half eaten muffin from the beginning of the summer, Maz finally emerged victorious with an old photo clutched in her long fingernails.

“Kanata’s Tea Shop: Opening Day!” Maz exclaimed with a smile, victoriously thunking the photo onto the counter before them. Rey peered downwards, seeing the inside of the shop through the lens of the past. The counters were newer, less nicks in the paint, and the teacups seemed to actually match instead of being the eclectic collection of cups that currently graced their shelves. In the photo, a short woman with her brown hair wrapped into an elegant braid stood with her arm around a dark-haired man with a roguish smile that he seemed to send only in her direction. Maz, ten years younger, looked nearly identical to how she looked now, and Rey had the sudden realization that Maz must be far, far older than she’d originally assumed. 

“He was so cute back then!” Maz said as she peered closer. “Used to insist on sweeping the floors while we worked, but usually just pushed on the crumbs around in a pile!” she said with a laugh, pointing at the black-haired boy grinning in the picture. His ears stuck out from his messy hair, and one of his front teeth had clearly fallen out not too long ago, judging by the sizable gap in his smile. He was holding a broomstick twice the size as he was, excitedly swiping the brush in haphazard strokes across the floor grinning proudly as he worked. She wondered just what had happened to turn that small, cheerful child into the emotional powder keg she knew today.

“You can keep it, you know,” Maz told Rey, raising her brows with a whisper when Bodhi turned away to help a customer who’d asked for a refill on their earl grey. Rey flushed, but pocketed the photo anyway, hoping that Bodhi would not question it upon his return

Maz did have a way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself, afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with year 4/5! Years 5/6 hopefully coming soon!


End file.
